


Operation Snob Sabotage

by UnderneathAnotherTree (underneaththewalnuttree)



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: F/F, High School AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-06-07 04:06:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 90,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15210593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underneaththewalnuttree/pseuds/UnderneathAnotherTree
Summary: A love story in two parts.





	1. "One, two, three--SABOTAGE!"

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a [Taylor Swift lyric](https://78.media.tumblr.com/5fd8d255f1822ba2a682ef56e5fe41b9/tumblr_p2hz1pFxHb1r9n6bfo1_540.jpg) and this [tweet](https://twitter.com/sanasmimo/status/997143916993433600).
> 
> Basically, what happens when I start writing something angsty because someone requested it, and then get another request to write something happy, and decide I only have time for one story and therefore must write both.

**THE PRESENT**

“Our service is highly specialized and tailored to accommodate each client’s lifestyle, varied as they may all be.”

For what might perhaps be the hundredth time since this introductory tour began, she wonders with equal parts chagrin and disbelief why, exactly, she allowed herself to be talked into this.

“We understand your career is especially demanding and have made the appropriate adjustments to our program, Ms. Myoui.”

It’s increasingly difficult to keep her expression set on polite interest instead of exasperated impatience when Mina glances down at her watch and glimpses a stock market update that she’s well aware will prompt an inevitable deluge of questions from the board of directors; flighty investors and shareholders whose undue anxieties flare up every now and then, ostensibly because of market instability and stock fluctuations, but in truth, because she’s 23-years-old and a woman and despite the fact that she’s great at her job (even if she didn’t necessarily pick it for herself), and despite her having graduated at the top of her class from one of the world’s best business schools, is still widely believed to have been named Myoui Industries’ CFO solely because of her last name.

And instead of addressing this dip in their stock numbers, attending the necessary meetings, and prepping a carefully-worded statement for the imminent press conference, she’s here, tailed by two of her bodyguards as she’s led through a moderate-sized business space inhabited by a company whose advertised mission is to “find love for busy professionals.” 

It’s a glorified matchmaking service, is what this is. And her parents’ insistence last Christmas (“you’ve been so occupied by work that you haven’t had time to try to find a special someone, or even to find a date for Kai’s wedding, honey”) wore her down sufficiently that she figured she could cave in momentarily and count on their eventual forgetfulness and loss of interest. But this is the scope of her misfortune—they did _not_ forget, and last week she walked into her office and was briefed by her secretary about her enrollment into this company’s service, and provided with a helpful but nonetheless mortifying brochure that explained the “program,” its length, its components, and what she could expect in the next few months.

She would have died of embarrassment if she weren’t so annoyed.

“Our program, as was explained in your brochure, consists of a series of interviews and activities you will partake with one of our consultants; these activities are varied, as our specialists endeavor to truly understand your needs and wishes, and strive to find someone who meets your desired traits and qualities,” Mr. Kang continues eagerly, and God, the fact that the company’s president himself has taken to personally conducting the introductory tour is ceremonious in an almost off-putting way. As they turn another corner through a carpeted hallway, Mina is thankful that she was primed practically since birth to maintain an air-tight hold over her facial features and demeanor, because in this moment she’s outwardly business-like and composed while inwardly wanting to disappear from awkwardness when she notices all the awe-filled looks of curiosity she’s receiving from each company employee they pass by. She hasn’t interacted with anyone not affiliated with Myoui Industries in a long time, and often forgets that this reaction is commonplace; forgets that this is who she is to everyone who first meets her, forgets the weight of her name. 

Mr. Kang pauses outside an oak-lined doorway Mina deduces leads to her assigned consultant’s office, whose tempered glass walls are just transparent enough that she can make out the shape of a female figure awaiting them inside, posted somewhere by what appears to be a sizable window. “I understand you have a limited time frame within which you’ve asked us to complete our program,” he posits, and Mina almost sighs, because yes, in 3 months she will be relocating back to Japan and 3 months after that she has Kai’s wedding to survive through, and she’s just begun, in the last month, to sell all her properties in Korea since purchasing her new home in Tokyo. “And with that in mind, we have shortened the program’s customary length—condensed it, if I may—to better suit your specified time frame. And I have selected our very best specialist for you, Ms. Myoui; unequalled in her rate of successful matches. I believe you will be very satisfied with our services.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kang.” She plans on adding something about how appreciative she is of the special accommodations his company has made for her—guarantees of enhanced privacy, extensive modifications to their usual methods in keeping with her security precautions—and in preparation of doing so, she shifts on her feet to adjust her posture into a friendlier stance. She’s had problems projecting approachability before; her most natural inclination is to avoid human contact at all cost, and in the past, before she went to college and shut herself off to the world, and before she buried her heart away and decided to build her life around her family’s business, she used to be less guarded, and sometimes would unintentionally display on her face her discomfort when thrown into social situations. 

(She used to be softer and frailer and easier to bruise, in ways that would have made her incapable of filling the role she has now in the corporation her father is leaving for her. There was someone, though, who saw all her insecurities and her loneliness and liked her anyway, helping her become the person she wanted to be while somehow assuring her that she didn’t need to be anything more than she already was; someone to whom Mina had tethered her life and her feelings before the burden of her last name dragged her away. That someone would’ve been the only person in the world who, in this moment, would have been able to spot through the facade of her calm that enrolling in this service was most definitely not Mina’s idea, and how thoroughly Mina hates this entire plan, and how deep is her incredulity that she’s actually agreed to it and is going through with it. This man in front of her, however, is not that person—she hasn’t seen that person in years—which is why it’s so easy for her to smother that bothersome thought away, and why it takes Mina so little effort to lie to him.)

“I’m truly grateful for your assistance, and am eager to begin your program.”

Mr. Kang beams; Mina feels better about lying. And then he opens the door so Mina may enter the inconspicuous office, Mina makes a motion that instructs her bodyguards to keep post outside, and then all it takes, really, is one step and one glance.

“Our company’s finest, Ms. Myoui—this is Hirai Momo.”

Mina halts instantly, body unwilling— _unable_ —to move forward.

“Good morning, Ms. Myoui.”

It’s abrupt, the way the fabric of the things that keep her together sort of rapidly unspool away from her all at once; the way the world feels so still, so quiet, like it’s been switched off; the way Momo clicks into perfect clarity as everything around her blurs out of focus.

(Momo looks the same.)

For an awful split-second, Mina wonders whether she’s dreaming—or, more aptly, engulfed in a nightmare—and whether she’s just fallen asleep in her office after a 14-hour workday and this is but the product of her exhaustion. Then she wonders if the world is perhaps ending or she’s dying, and this is her brain’s last-hurrah hallucination—seeing Momo again.

But Momo gives her an almost imperceptible nod of greeting that’s bright and a little nervous, and the sunlight streaming from the wide-paneled window hits her just right, and then it feels like high school again. It feels like that first time Mina saw Momo dance and then forgot how to talk, it feels like the first time they kissed or the last time Momo held her hand. And it all makes it clear that this is indeed actually happening, and that she’s been lying to the man beside her with habitual ease because he, like practically everyone in her life, thinks she’s someone she’s not, because he met her last name before he actually met her. But now here is someone in front of her who knows her, really knows her, the shape of her, the corners of her mind, her every habit and insecurity and the dreams and goals atop which she’s constructed her life—here is someone who knows her like no one else does. Mina is at loss, suddenly, of how she’s supposed to act, what she’s supposed to say when faced with someone who can read her so clearly.

(Momo looks the same.)

A terrible fear drenches her muscles then, sprouting uncomfortably from the realization that yes, Momo knows her, but Mina knows Momo too—her heart thumps and murmurs inside her as her eyes sweep the woman before her; I know this voice, I know this face, I know those lips, I know those eyes, I know her kiss, her warmth, her sounds, her taste, her laugh.

She’s going to have a panic attack. Right here. In this office. In front of the person who eased away all her panic attacks in the past. It astounds her how utterly unprepared she was to see Momo again after having imagined this very moment uncountable times in the past few years.

Momo takes a friendly step closer to her, probably because Mina herself has made no attempt to approach her, and extends her hand with no trace of hesitation. “Nice to meet you. It’s an honor.”

Oh. 

She’s either forgotten Mina entirely, or is doing an outstanding job pretending they don’t know each other.

There is a chaos in her mind as she struggles to find something—anything—to say, and then she realizes it’s been a second and she still hasn’t made any movement to shake Momo’s hand. She stretches her own outward, careful not to betray the storm of emotions that churn inside her, sparked by the horribly familiar heat of Momo’s touch, and draws on all her Myoui courage to clear her throat and greet steadily, “likewise, Ms. Hirai.”

Mr. Kang reaffirms some of his earlier statements on the company’s mission to successfully pair off every one of its clients with a compatible match, and then Mina finds herself enclosed with Momo inside an office that is, she now notices, small and sparsely decorated. The partially-unpacked boxes and a dust-free and unblemished name plate propped on the desk has Mina deducing that this is a new office into which Momo has not completely settled.

“Please have a seat,” Momo urges with a warmth that almost knocks Mina off-balance with how unexpected it is.

Mina reluctantly complies, stiffly sitting down and raising her gaze with dread to the person in front of her. A convoluted knot of pain twists and twists inside her and her brain seems to short-circuit suddenly, because she blurts out unthinkingly, “you look familiar,” and instantly regrets it. Of all things she could have said, this is probably the very worst one.

There’s a short beat of silence between them, a pause inside which Mina watches Momo’s minuscule flinch and absolutely hates herself, but then Momo chuckles lowly and comments, “you still remember that. Well, you look familiar, too.” It’s only a paralyzing sort of terror that keeps her bolted down to her chair when Momo leans slightly forward across her wooden desk and begins smoothly, “so, can I just say that I’m pretty shocked you’re here?”

In contrast to Momo’s easy conversational tone, Mina feels several levels of stilted and hopes fervently that her face isn’t projecting every single strand of anxiety coursing through her. “You are?”

“Well, because this is a dating service. And you’re you, so... um, you don’t really need help.”

There’s a distinct undercurrent of humor, of teasing, in Momo’s words, but Mina has no idea how to interpret that when she’s spent the last couple of years flashing back to tears and yells and accusations and the most heart-wrenching goodbye she’s ever experienced. 

“I work long, unpredictable hours,” is her neutral-toned attempt at a response. “So I haven’t really had time for dating. My parents are the ones who signed me up for this; they think I do actually need help.”

“Right.” Their conversation has taken on a stuffy inflection suddenly, she notices. They were never formal with one another but the mention of her parents would have had that effect; she should have expected that. “Well, even with our time being so reduced, I’ve adapted the program enough that I still believe in our chances of success.” 

The nagging question emerges from her before she can contain it. “You knew I was the client and you didn’t tell Mr. Kang about us?”

Momo’s ensuing blush is such a foreign sight—it’s been so long, it’s been so many years—that Mina has to swallow hard as she listens to her wincing explanation: “I couldn’t, actually. I kind of lied in my application a few years ago that I had never been involved with any celebrities or high-profile people—because that would have disqualified me, you know—so then when I saw your name, I couldn’t admit that I had, um, omitted a really important person.” The last time Momo referred to her name, they were fighting; Momo hated her last name, hated what it was making Mina do to them. It was the last fight they ever had, and the pain of the memory threatens to burn through her. Momo is oblivious to her inner turmoil and continues with a half grin. “Plus, you’re a huge account. Everyone wanted you. I’m surprised they gave you to me. It’s pretty amazing, professionally speaking, that I got it; I’m kind of getting promoted because of it.”

“I’m a huge account?” Mina asks then, blankly, and Momo actually laughs at that.

“You really haven’t changed. You always forget that you’re a big deal.”

Something else nags at her, an uncomfortable curiosity. “This won’t be strange for you?”

And Momo’s surprise at the question almost stings. “Why would it be? For all intents and purposes, I don’t actually know you. And I can’t really disclose anything about myself; it’s going to be all about you. You just hired the company I work for to provide you with a service, that’s all.” The surprise turns humored; Mina hurts inside for reasons she can’t name. “So I’m just… a contracted worker, if you will. Another one of your gazillion employees.”

It’s a joke and it’s the worst she’s ever heard, but she forces a chuckle nonetheless. 

“All right, then.” The unemotional quality of her assent sounds forced to her own ears and Mina wants to crawl out of her skin.

“Will it be okay with you, though?” Momo queries, softening now. “Will it be weird? I can withdraw myself from the account if you want.”

Had Mina any courage left, any remnant of a sense of self-preservation, she would probably clarify now to Momo that no, this won’t be weird—it’ll be excruciating and she can already foresee its inevitable pain destroying the last part of her that still believes she can recover from their failed relationship. She would tell Momo that she planted inside Mina an ache that has never, ever gone away. She would admit that it used to keep her awake at night, the thought of ending up with someone who isn’t Momo. She would add that for all the years that have passed and all the men and women she’s gazed upon and smiled at, Momo has remained the weakest part of her heart, an open gash that bleeds and bleeds and never seems to scar over.

But then she thinks of Momo revealing with a proud smile that Mina is a “huge account” and the cause for her promotion, and also positing with easy indifference that she might as well be just another one of Mina’s employees, and she has to stifle down the unpleasantness of this predicament and set aside what she’s feeling as she looks at the embodiment of the biggest regret of her life, because she was selfish once and promised herself she wouldn’t commit the same mistakes again if she ever got the chance to do this over.

“No, everything will be fine. I’m glad it’s you.”

The actual first session of the consultancy is in two days, and once Mina leaves the building and straps herself down inside her helicopter, she nods wordlessly to her pilot and security team a request for a momentary delay. She allows herself one minute to gather the scattered shards of her emotions and then reaches for her phone automatically.

“It’s Momo,” Mina sighs instantly when her call is picked up, not allowing Nayeon enough time for a greeting.

There’s some background noise filling a confused silence, which tips Mina off that her friend is at work, in some movie set somewhere. Mina forgets where she’s filming right now. _“Huh?”_

“The dating consultant person.”

A gasp—there it is, an appropriate response. _“You’re shitting me.”_

“I’m not.”

 _“Hirai Momo, your ex, is your consultant person in that fancy dating agency.”_

Nayeon’s baffled incredulity externalizes exactly what Mina is still feeling, and she’s glad she called her immediately instead of stewing in her despair by herself, which had been her first impulse.

“Yes, her.”

 _“Hirai Momo, the girl whose heart you broke and whose life you ruined senior year. That Momo.”_

Okay, yeah; maybe she _shouldn’t_ have called Nayeon, the only person who can get away with talking so carelessly about the one topic Mina has never quite broached with anyone else.

“Can we not go over that again?” Mina grumbles with misery, instead. “I’ve spent the last five years of my life hating myself already; I don’t need you to remind me. What I want to ask is how did no one know about this? How did Jeongyeon or Sana not tell you?”

_“Well, last time Momo's job came up in conversation, Jeong said she was an intern somewhere, but she didn't give her any details because it involves celebrities and some sort of confidentiality thing—ohhhh, it all makes sense now.”_

As a response, Mina raises a hand to her temple, feebly attempting to ward off a headache, and releases a frustrated groan. “I had a brain-dead moment,” she mumbles, worrying the hem of a dress custom-made for her and worth an undoubtedly exorbitant amount, “and said the worst thing I could have—” 

_“Oh God; don’t tell me you told her she looks familiar.”_

This really is a nightmare. She’s just begun to live inside a 3-month-long nightmare of sheer agony she can’t wake up from—that’s what this is. 

_“Do you want me to fly over to you? I can get a break a day early—”_

Her last name gave her heartbreak in the past but it’s also infused her blood with a steely kind of bravery, meant to assist her when facing boardrooms filled with older men questioning and patronizing her. Mina wonders if the same bravery can strengthen her to make it through the next three months. 

She can do this, right? 

_(“You know what I think, honestly? That you can do anything you want to do.”)_

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” 

\- 

**THE PAST**

“Holy crap, Momo. It’s a freaking invasion.” 

Frowning, Momo spares a glance at a horrified Jeongyeon beside her as they take in the jarring sight of their school’s parking lot this morning, a hectic crowd of limousines and luxury towncars, with the added touch of a helicopter descending upon the school’s infrequently-used helipad. They had known the new students would arrive this Monday, but the reality of this hadn’t truly sunk in until now. 

“Oh, great. They’re here.” Sana has joined them, trading a look of annoyance with Jeongyeon. “We’re being swarmed by snobs. It’s like a biblical plague.” 

The sequence of events had elapsed astoundingly quickly: SM Prep Academy, the private school across town attended exclusively by enormously wealthy students, had burned down two weeks ago—precisely in the middle of the school year—in what police had begun to investigate as an arson attack. By the next Wednesday, Momo had heard murmurs that the school district was scrambling to distribute SM’s students into the district’s two other high schools for the remainder of the year, until the gigantic campus can be rebuilt. By Friday, Momo and the rest of the JYP High School student population were gathered in the auditorium, receiving the news that all SM juniors and seniors had been effectively transferred to their school while the freshmen and sophomores were headed to YG High School, in the next city over. 

Momo has been in Korea for the shortest length of time among her international friends and has never actually met any student from SM, and is thus unable to conjure any strong feelings towards the incoming students. But when she makes an attempt to express her ambivalence (“guys, it might not be that bad—”) she’s swiftly and mercilessly interrupted by Jeongyeon’s and Sana’s combined dismay, making clear, in no uncertain terms, that this is bad, bad news: “they’re the most stuck-up people in the entire world, Momo; they’re _insufferable_.” 

It’s customary for the three of them to assemble every morning in this exact spot for a few minutes prior to the beginning of classes, but today Sana has summoned them for a meeting of added importance. “You two can thank me later for being the student council president and always giving you the inside scoop before everyone else gets it,” Sana begins self-assuredly, and Jeongyeon rolls her eyes while Momo scoffs teasingly and takes another bite of her breakfast sandwich. “You know how we usually only get three or four transfers in a year? And it’s usually someone from the student council who is assigned the new student and does the whole transfer mentor thing for a month? Well, there are so many SM students coming over—they’re a smaller school but seriously, there are like a hundred of them coming here; it really is a plague—that the administration decided to assign each transfer to one of our seniors.” Jeongyeon had been retrieving a last spoonful of her yogurt with obvious disinterest, but at this, she freezes, and Momo too, stops mid-chew, suddenly aware of the imminent implications of what Sana is telling them. “So every senior, pretty much, is getting assigned one of them. I’m getting assigned one. And so are you two.” 

Jeongyeon doesn’t even wait until Sana finishes her sentence before she’s stating flatly, “you’ll never take me alive.” 

“Jeong—” 

“A _month_? With one of _them_? Are you high?” 

“It wasn’t my decision, or the student council’s—” 

Momo can tell Jeongyeon and Sana’s back-and-forth might consume the entire spare time they have before their respective first classes, so she clears her throat to ask something she figures has at least some moderate importance. “When does the mentor thing start?” 

Sana appears thankful for the interjection and replies tiredly after a brief glance at her watch, “sometime this morning we’ll all get an email with the name of the SM student assigned to us, and then tomorrow we’ll actually meet them and start the mentoring.” 

As though timed by some cosmic force, their phone screens brighten simultaneously. 

“Oh, that’s early,” Sana mumbles, proceeding to read her email; “I got a junior called Park Jihyo.” 

“I got a senior... some girl named Im Nayeon,” Jeongyeon grunts moodily as Momo scrolls past a few explanatory paragraphs in her own emailed notification from the school’s administration until she reaches the penultimate line, containing a simple name and a year. 

“Mine is called Myoui Mina. A junior.” She pauses and frowns in vague recognition at the same time her friends register the same reaction. “Myoui?” she repeats questioningly, and instantly the three of them pivot to an ominous and imposing skyscraper peeking over the busy Seoul skyline and visible from their campus, upon whose facade are enormous block letters stamping the building’s top floor: MYOUI INDUSTRIES. 

“How many Myoui families are there?” Jeongyeon poses idly as they turn their attention back to one another, conversation cut short by a shrill bell announcing the day’s commencement. “Well,” she goes on to grumble to a pouting Sana, “I guess we should enjoy our last day of freedom before the torture begins.” 

\- 

Because the new students are attending an all-day orientation prior to their official integration into JYP High, Momo makes it all the way to lunch period that Monday without spotting a single transfer student. She’s on her way to the cafeteria, exchanging friendly smiles and greetings with passersby, momentarily delayed by what seems like a large gathering partially obstructing one of the lesser-trafficked hallways. A second later, she finds herself surreptitiously pulled into a circle of excited freshmen gathered to play a game she hasn’t participated in since she was a sophomore. She can vividly picture Jeongyeon rolling her eyes and commenting something about Momo’s willingness to embarrass herself solely to be nice to the school’s youngest and most impressionable students—because Jeongyeon is fair and responsible and continuously aware of their duties as leaders on campus, and no one possesses more social dexterity than Sana, so Momo has often found herself the more laid-back member of their trifecta—but her mind doesn’t quite linger on this worry. She’s now enclosed by about two dozen underclassmen awe-struck by the presence of a high-profile senior in their midst and she can’t quite make the effort to suppress her amusement at their infectious cheer. 

“I’m only kissing cheeks so don’t get your hopes up, boys and girls,” an exaggeratedly austere Momo advises, prompting more laughter from the freshmen. 

As she’s being blindfolded and then spun around a few times until she’s sufficiently disoriented, she adjusts to the darkness and makes a half-hearted attempt to orient herself through the laughter and delighted yells surrounding her. 

_“Here, Momo unnie!”_

_“No, come over this way, unnie!”_

_“Kiss _me_ , _unnie!”_ _

__

__

It’s almost impossible to tell which way she’s facing or has turned to, so Momo takes two steps in what she believes is the direction of the cafeteria, and darts out her hand, relieved when it lands on a shoulder, as opposed to a chest or some other less appropriate place. 

“Got you,” Momo grins, sliding her hand then from the shoulder to a neck in a quick and smooth movement, before settling on a jaw, the better to ensure her spatial awareness and position her kiss exactly where she had intended. 

In the fleeting second it takes to lean forward, however, a part of her mind distantly registers two facts: one, that the cheers have summarily stopped, as if the crowd of freshmen had evaporated from around her, and two, that whoever this student is, it’s most likely a girl—shoulder-length hair aside, the skin she’s grazing with her fingertips is soft and smooth, the lingering perfume is subtle but distinctly feminine, and they are almost exactly the same height. There’s no time for Momo to consider these observations, however, because just as Momo’s lips are within what she’s calculated is an inch of the place she’s aimed for, she feels the student stiffen. And in the millisecond that it takes Momo to make contact, this same student turns a fraction of a degree to the side in a jerky movement Momo can tell is somewhat involuntary, and Momo has no time to adjust—instead of landing on the surface of a cheek, her lips press briefly against a slightly parted mouth. 

Immediately, Momo retreats—already pondering that she might as well pack her bags and move to some remote mountainous region in Iceland with her deceased dignity if she’s really just kissed a 14- or 15-year-old—but lets her hand remain on the student’s shoulder in a remorseful gesture while simultaneously rushing into an apology as she pulls down the blindfold. “I’m so sorry about that; I really was aiming for—” and then she freezes halfway through the motion, widening her eyes and almost gasping with horror when her gaze finds not one of the JYP freshman students, but a complete stranger—a girl clad entirely in SM’s infamous, militaristic navy-blue uniform, facing Momo with a small frown and a pink-hued blotch darkening her cheeks, highlighting a number of moles that speckle the girl’s skin. 

Even through Momo’s chagrin at the situation at hand, it’s distracting how badly her eyes are tempted to bounce from one mole to another in some kind of subconscious impulse to count and study them. But Momo drags her focus to the more pressing matter at hand instead, because _holy shit_ ; she just kissed one of the SM students, who most likely just happened to be lost and inadvertently walked into Momo’s path. 

_Shit shit shit this is bad this is AWFUL_

This, of course, explains the deathly, suspenseful silence in the hallway, and Momo wants to smack all the surrounding freshmen for not alerting her to the catastrophic trainwreck unfolding right before their very eyes. 

“Um. Can you please tell me where your library is?” Momo hears the girl murmur in a mild voice that catches her off-guard—because she’s been slower to internalize the negative stories about SM and its student population, but she _has_ internalized them, and thus automatically expected the tone to be brasher and meaner—and then, just as she’s opening her mouth to answer, she feels the girl’s hand gently tapping Momo’s own, which she now realizes, appalled, is still placed on her shoulder. Instantly, Momo snatches it back with blurring speed. 

“Uh, it’s, um, that way,” Momo stammers, and barely waits for the girl to politely excuse herself from the crowd before she’s turning to the surrounding students with disbelief. “Really, guys? No one thought of _maybe_ telling me I was about to kiss one of the transfer students?” 

It tickles some laughter out of the previously stunned group, but before Momo can continue with her reprehension, a familiar grip efficiently pulls her by the arm and fishes her out from among the congregated students. 

“We are going to discuss later why you, a senior and captain of the cheerleaders, thought it’d be a good idea to participate in a game no one older than 15-years-old ever plays,” Sana is hissing harshly under her breath, as she continues to lead Momo toward the end of the hallway in large, purposeful strides, “and why you have such shit luck that you ended up kissing an SM student who wandered into the wrong hallway.” Jeongyeon emerges into view a small distance away in the courtyard, and Momo’s curiosity is perked when she subsequently catches sight of her friend engaged in an apparent heated argument with another SM student as a dozen other students from both JYP and SM have gathered as an audience. “But for now, Jeongyeon has just started a war and we’re her back-up.” 

“… because in case you were too busy being self-centered and missed the memo, you’re not in Snob Central anymore; you’re in _our_ school,” Momo catches the ending snippet of Jeongyeon’s statement, delivered with a ruthless and sharp tone she’s not sure she’s ever heard from her friend, which tips her off immediately that this is indeed a serious altercation. 

“Please—you think we _wanted_ to come here and go to class with you cross-town savages?” For the first time, Momo switches her attention to the girl on the other side of the argument. It only takes one brief second of observation to notice the easy confidence of someone who is very pretty and is well-aware of it, and conclude that this girl is the personification of every stereotype associated with SM, as all the tell-tale signs of privilege are there: the cocky self-assurance, the air of superiority—“this school is what I imagine the inside of a dumpster looks like,” the same girl adds with some palpable disdain as three other SM students behind her all smirk in agreement—and the rudeness; yes, that’s also there, Momo amends, in disbelief at the scene transpiring before her. 

A visibly pissed off Sana has stepped closer to Jeongyeon, and Momo follows suit to match the number of students flanking their current adversary. At this, Momo herself seems to catch the attention of the SM girl, whose eyes flitter to Momo and then inexplicably narrow in suspicion. 

“Your school was barbecued two weeks ago and we’ve taken you in as an act of charity so I suggest you choose your words carefully,” Sana retorts with a dangerous glare that pulls another student into their hostile midst. 

“In case that was a threat, let me assure you—our words were already very carefully chosen,” that second student replies authoritatively, and Momo overhears someone close by whisper “damn, even Park Jihyo has joined in,” which causes a warning alarm to blare inside Momo’s head— _crap_ , that’s Sana’s assigned transfer student. This entire situation has just descended from bad to horrific. 

Momo turns discreetly to reveal this latest bit of news to Sana, but her window of opportunity is shut as quickly as it opened. 

“I almost forgot I’m now in a school attended only by juvenile delinquents,” the first girl continues, eyes alight with thrill. “Have you changed your motto to ‘Home of the Future Felons of South Korea’ yet?” 

“I’d tell you to go to hell but I can see you’re already its mistress and would be right at home,” an enormously aggravated Jeongyeon retorts, just as the school bell announces the end of the lunch break. 

“Mistress of Hell—that’s a new one,” the first girl reaffirms with a defiant flicker in her eyes as she takes another step forward and stands within challenging distance of Jeongyeon. Momo immediately moves to intervene and preempt a physical altercation, but a steely Sana grabs her hand and holds her in place. “You can call me that while you learn how to say ‘Im Nayeon,’ my actual name.” 

Oh, fuck. Im Nayeon? 

Momo’s jaw slacks slightly and the ensuing stunned silence assures her that her friends have arrived at the same realization she has. 

“As _fascinating_ as this has been,” Park Jihyo speaks up as her friend is regally shoving past them, “we have an orientation to finish and aren’t planning on spending any more time with you three unless we’re being held at gunpoint.” 

The SM group is barely out of earshot when Jeongyeon swivels to Sana with angry incredulity. “ _That’s_ who I got assigned to? _Her??_ ” 

Momo leaps in with dread to add, “and that girl behind her—I heard someone say that’s Park Jihyo.” 

“Okay, so this just got drastically shittier,” Sana concedes, pinching the bridge of her nose. Jeongyeon’s temperament is reliably steadfast—Sana is the one prone to bouts of impatience—but in this moment Momo can sense how thoroughly irritated she is. 

“How did this even start, though?” a baffled Momo asks; “they’ve barely been here for half a day—” 

“I’m not sure you can get on Jeong’s case for starting a war with them this soon when you’ve literally already _kissed_ one of them,” Sana reminds pointedly, prompting a hot rush of embarrassment to spread from Momo’s neck to her face. 

“You did _what_?” Jeongyeon stares, aghast. 

“It was an accid—” 

“We can talk about this later—we have to go to class,” Sana urges, beckoning both Momo and Jeongyeon back towards the classroom buildings as she rapidly texts someone on her phone. “I’m already getting Chae on this; she’s doing her usual hacking stuff and digging up everything on them, so we’ll know every scandal, dating histories, GPAs; every bit of blackmail material she can get her hands on...” She lowers her phone and faces them, resolute and determined, and this seems to assuage Jeongyeon but ignites a tiny spark of worry inside Momo, because perhaps this is not quite the wisest course of action. “We’ll meet tonight at her place at 7pm and we _will_ handle this.” 

\- 

In times past, Chaeyoung’s couch in the Sons’ spacious basement had been one of Momo’s favorite places in the world for its sheer comfort and the joyful memories they’ve created of movie marathons, game nights, and study sessions. Today, a strain of unease curls inside her and she has to gape in alarm when Chaeyoung dims the lights solemnly, clicks a projector to life, and Momo reads off a military-font titled slideshow (“OPERATION SNOB SABOTAGE”) ominously projected on the lowered screen in front of them. 

“So… is that…” she begins, swallowing down a lump of apprehension in her throat, “the, um, official name for what we’re doing?” 

“Can I just say that we’re already not starting out well?” Jeongyeon posits emphatically, snatching a chip from Sana’s opened potato chip bag while the girl is distracted texting Dahyun, a junior member of the cheerleading squad and another of their friends. “Momo is too nice to do any kind of sabotage.” 

Taking affront, Momo stiffens and protests, “I’m not too nice.” Immediately, both Sana and Chaeyoung assert in unison, “yes, you are,” with the latter unbothered to do as much as glance up from her computer. 

Easily moving past Momo’s indignation, Chaeyoung addresses Sana and Jeongyeon to explain, “you guys need Momo unnie. Sana unnie said the mission is to topple over their social pyramid, and it turns out the three of you were assigned the three students who are right at the top of that pyramid.” The characteristic low clatter of her keyboard fills the room and then she ceremoniously begins. “And here are your marks.” 

The projector displays a [picture](https://78.media.tumblr.com/a029a6987af08b061d1cdb8eebeb92fb/tumblr_pb472v2nfd1vymbnlo4_400.jpg) of the aforementioned targets, and Momo’s eyes are immediately snatched to the girl in the right corner of the frame; there’s a familiarity there that she can’t quite place, but Chaeyoung advances to the next slide and announces their first target. “Up first—[Park Jihyo](https://78.media.tumblr.com/5d326168a4b69845a708e3eb3dba2a41/tumblr_pb472v2nfd1vymbnlo3_500.jpg).” The pictures displayed range from social media posts to newspaper clippings from the SM student newspaper, and Momo is distinctly unnerved and simultaneously fascinated by what she’s seeing. “She’s a junior and their student body president, elected this year.” 

“Oh, that’s why she’s my assignment,” Sana infers with some annoyance. “The school administration paired up students with similar interests. Watch—I bet you two got assigned cheerleaders.” 

Chaeyoung resumes the presentation, listing off various facts that continue to alarm Momo by increasing amounts; “Park is apparently good at everything and is practically worshipped by the entire SM student body. Literally had a shrine in their old school where students would go pray for good grades before tests. Word on the street is, she’s secretly dating the student body treasurer, who’s also a junior—Chou Tzuyu. This is something I got off her hidden Snapchat account.” 

As the [short video](https://78.media.tumblr.com/d53e633c123021633c7cdd56f92de2e5/tumblr_ohk51aMsh71uljruvo1_540.gif) plays, Sana pumps her fist victoriously while declaring, “ _hello_ , ethics violation. That’s like the first rule of being a student council president—don’t date another member of the council. This takedown is going to be easier than I thought.” 

“Well, here’s a closer look at [Chou Tzuyu](https://78.media.tumblr.com/b8ae8be027e3aec1177c544abb2e81b4/tumblr_pb84j2kPOY1vymbnlo1_640.jpg),” Chaeyoung responds, lowering her voice a bit, and then the screen is alight with a picture that makes all four girls lean back in awe, and immediately Jeongyeon admits, “yeah, I think most people would commit ethics violations for her, too.” 

“I’ll find something else on her,” Sana mumbles, and Momo bites the inside of her cheek to stifle a laugh. 

“Oh, and her father is the vice-president,” Chaeyoung adds, nonchalant. Momo raises an eyebrow but it’s Sana who speaks up. 

“Of what?” 

At this, Chaeyoung and Jeongyeon turn to one another quizzically. “Well, they _are_ Japanese,” Jeongyeon shrugs, and Chaeyoung clarifies with an understanding nod, “vice-president of the country. Of South Korea.” 

Sana seems torn between disbelief and panic, but a business-like Chaeyoung readily advances. 

“Next up: here’s yours, Jeong unnie. [Im Nayeon](https://78.media.tumblr.com/c30ec6f229c5d8eeaf4ff0a5e64ff4a1/tumblr_pb472v2nfd1vymbnlo2_400.jpg).” When the girl’s image appears, Jeongyeon hisses angrily under her breath (“yep, that’s her, all right”) and Momo almost winces at the recent memory of their public argument and wonders whether it’s normal to feel intimidated by a picture. “She’s a senior, and the head cheerleader.” Sana laughs haughtily at the fulfillment of her prediction and Jeongyeon groans while Momo tosses a potato chip in her direction. “Pretty much ran their school. Is 3% human and 97% evil. In another life, was probably Satan’s wife. Every time she laughs, a child cries. Has her own hashtag on Instagram and is the daughter of two models.” Momo suddenly understands the boundless confidence and is very, very glad this isn’t the student assigned to her. 

“So I’m supposed to sabotage Korean Regina George?” Jeongyeon objects with a grunt. 

“Her best friend happens to be her vice-captain in their cheerleading squad, and is also our next subject—your mark, Momo unnie.” 

Momo watches the screen attentively and then almost faints when the [girl's picture](https://78.media.tumblr.com/bde1996baa2fbe4a86131f9c32728243/tumblr_pb472v2nfd1vymbnlo1_400.jpg) is projected. 

“Oh my God— _that’s_ Myoui Mina?” she questions with horror, mind flashing back to the accidental kiss with this very same girl, and the paralyzing embarrassment that followed. 

“Oh, isn’t that the girl you kissed today?” Sana asks casually, tilting her head to the side and leaning closer to better examine the image. “Well, maybe that just really looks like her—” 

“No, that’s her,” Momo groans with frustration, inwardly praying for some miracle that will magically reassign this girl to someone else overnight. “I was an inch from her face, so I’d know those moles anywhere. Ugh; just kill me now, please.” 

“At least you can cross ‘kiss a stranger’ off your Senior Bucket List,” Jeongyeon consoles, but Momo swats her hand away and buries her face in a nearby pillow. 

“Well, as you can tell by the last name, this girl is a billionaire,” Chaeyoung comments, nodding through a variety of pictures of the Myoui’s well-publicized familial wealth. “But apparently she’s really quiet and shy. Is a ballerina, has really good grades, and is behind some charity stuff their school does every year.” 

The last slide is an animated clip of some skulls and bones assembling into an apocalyptic sign of doom and Sana readily resumes their briefing; “now, my plan for the sabotage is—” but Momo immediately sits up in alarm. 

“Wait—that’s it? That’s the ‘dirt’ on this Myoui person?” She throws the pillow aside and casts a disbelieving glance between all three of her friends. “I thought Chae was doing her hacking stuff so we’d get blackmail material.” 

Chaeyoung’s typing resumes and she notes idly, “it was hard to find stuff on Myoui because her family has a lot of security protocols in place with their information, but there is something I found that I thought was interesting,” and then a last thump of a keyboard key prompts another [image](https://78.media.tumblr.com/d3a8198868aebb1b5af072f2b3b3a8bd/tumblr_oo6dptQObZ1vao7e5o2_540.jpg) onto their screen. “Im Nayeon and Myoui Mina are ex-girlfriends.” 

All three other girls examine the picture a bit more intently and Sana comments off-handedly, “that’s pretty odd, that they’re exes and they’re so close. Maybe there’s something else there and you could use it against her.” 

“ _We’re_ exes and also friends, and I'm even friends with your current girlfriend,” Momo remarks absentmindedly as she analyzes [another picture](https://78.media.tumblr.com/f32dfa4b4b8abb2d991ec33c0d38b0fd/tumblr_pbjh07ytAB1vymbnlo2_540.jpg), wondering if their body language could inform her of any aspect of their dynamics. “I don’t think there’s much to use against her, to be honest.” 

Jeongyeon spares a scoff in her direction and queries, “there’s plenty to use against all three of them, and why are you complaining about your target? Know who I got? The Antichrist.” 

“And I got the daughter of the Korean vice-president!” Sana contributes with her own brand of dread. 

Something in Momo entices her to suggest they call this whole operation off, as it has not, for one single second, seemed like a remotely reasonable idea, but an undeterred Sana amends, “but! None of this matters, because JYP is our school and they’re ungrateful, stuck-up airheads who must be destroyed.” 

“That’s right.” Jeongyeon shows an equal fire of determination and Momo sinks back into the couch because she’s very much outnumbered and there will be no peace for the remainder of her life if she doesn’t agree to participate in their scheme. “We’ll make their lives so miserable they’ll wish they had never been transferred here.” 

Later, when Sana, Jeongyeon, and Chaeyoung stack their hands together in a show of shared resolve and commitment to their plot, Momo can’t help a waver of hesitation before forcing her own hand atop the pile. 

“One, two, three—SABOTAGE!” 

\- 

When Momo opens her backpack the next morning while she rushes through a hallway en route to the auditorium, she’s disheartened to find that not only has her energy drink exploded and soaked its contents through most of her papers, she’s also, more importantly, too late to print a duplicate copy of the school’s “Orientation Guide” pamphlet, from which she was supposed to gather the pertinent information for today’s transfer orientation. 

“Hey, you’re finally here; I thought you were going to be late,” Jeongyeon welcomes just as Momo takes one last hurried step to reach her, a few seconds before the mandated reporting time of 8:00am. “Oh, and Sana is already meeting with Park Jihyo since they’re both student body presidents.” Momo grunts back an acknowledgement and the two make their way inside the expansive structure at the same time that Jeongyeon mumbles sullenly, “I really want to know what saint I murdered in my last life to deserve this.” 

The auditorium has been divided into sections organized and labelled alphabetically, into which each SM student has gathered in accordance with last name. Momo accompanies Jeongyeon to the “I” last names in solidarity, and then immediately regrets it when Im Nayeon spots their approach and greets immediately upon their arrival, “oh, joy. You again. To what do I owe the displeasure?” 

Jeongyeon’s subsequent eye roll is so pronounced it makes Momo wonder whether her eyes will fall back into her skull. “I’m your assigned mentor, you moron.” 

“ _Excuse me?_ ” It’s a temporary happy sight, Im Nayeon’s devastation at the revelation, until she turns her attention completely to Momo and notes with disdain, “I recognize you. You kissed Mina yesterday.” Momo blanches at the topic and opens her mouth to reaffirm, as she’s done a dozen times now to various people, that the incident was entirely accidental, but the girl continues; “you’re really lucky she turns off her security sensor when she’s in school, otherwise you’d have been tackled by her bodyguards—four men who look like the Asian version of the Hulk.” 

It’s a clear rush of impatience that drives Jeongyeon to interject snappily, “listen, Im, there’s a _really long_ list of things I’d rather do than spend the next three hours showing you around my school—including dying—so let’s just get this over with.” 

Im Nayeon is already gearing up to spit out her next insult so Momo promptly turns to head to the area at which her own assigned transfer student will be posted, and overhears the girl telling a sighing Jeongyeon, “I am, actually, looking forward to this tour. Surely there must be _some_ part of this school less repulsive than the ones I’ve already had the misfortune of seeing.” 

With each step that takes her toward to the “M” section, Momo reminds herself of the importance of their operation and her own individual role in their mission, and as she draws closer to where her target is, she repeats mentally that contrary to her friends’ opinions, she _can_ do this. She can sabotage people and be mean. It’ll be easy. She can totally, totally do this. 

Myoui Mina emerges into view among a grouping of other SM students, perfectly-postured in the prim uniform and intently reading one of the school’s informational handouts. 

She can do this. She can be mean. She can be a horrible person when she needs to be. Yes, this is totally, totally doable. 

Gently, Momo taps Myoui Mina’s shoulder and clears her throat nervously. 

The moderate chatter filling the auditorium weakens into a dull hum when the girl glances up from her handout and her eyes register the smallest flicker of surprise. There it is again—there’s something inexplicably fascinating about the girl’s face, something that’s a little distracting and bothersome—but Momo steers her attention to the task at hand. 

“Hi, I’m Hirai Momo,” she forces out, almost cringing with embarrassment because she sees it so clearly blanketing the girl’s features, the flashback to their not-yet-a-day-old accident. “I’m, um, your transfer mentor.” She extends her hand stiltedly and does cringe this time, because good God, this is terrible. If an asteroid could hit this school in this moment and deliver her from this morbid humiliation, Momo would count that as a win. 

“You look familiar,” the girl says instead, tone hinting at an attempt to joke while a tiniest trace of pink blooms in her cheeks. “I’m Myoui Mina. Nice to meet you.” 

\- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that South Korea does not have a vice-president.
> 
> Also note that if you'd like to fangirl about MiMo, [come hither](https://twitter.com/UnderneathTree) :)


	2. The delinquent spot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The PRESENT half was inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/myouihell/status/1012253861329829888).  
> The PAST half was inspired (of course) by [this](https://twitter.com/minapics/status/1019425675919294464).

** THE PRESENT **

There will be no point in her life, Mina accepts sullenly, at which she’ll derive any happiness from conducting press conferences. She will never welcome the attention, will never enjoy the inquisitional tone of these forums, no matter how thoroughly she’s studied each stock trend, or how long she’s practiced each speech. Each time, she has to stifle down a wave of dread and panic creeping up from her throat, part nausea and part fever, reinforced by her own deeply-ingrained brand of self-loathing.

Something had always helped her before. When she graduated and embarked on this career, there were words she would tug from her memories, that would echo inside her head and shape her insecurities into something resembling cautious optimism. As of two days ago, the words do nothing but prick the expanse of tissue around her heart.

She has 3 minutes until she has to step out into the hostile, toxic air of this press conference and, devoid of the comfort of her crutch, she can think of no better immediate remedy than to text the words to Nayeon.

_“Hey, why are you giving me a pep talk?”_

Her best friend calls her immediately, always reliably sanguine and upbeat. There’s a scattered noise and muffled chatter emerging from the background sounds, and Mina would ask her where she is, if she weren’t so pressed for time.

“I’m not. I need you to read those words to me.”

_“Huh?”_

The remnants of her heartbreak grind up inside her again at the prospect of confessing this, because even though Nayeon knows nearly every part of Mina’s psyche, there are still places she’s hidden away from everyone. This is one of them. For years, she’s carried the haze of her lingering love for Momo behind her eyes—even carried it in her clothes sometimes, like smoke, whenever the memories were particularly strong. But it’s never been out in the open.

“I’m about to give a really important press conference and I need those words,” she admits dully into her phone. “But in a different voice.”

 _“Oh.”_ It dawns on her best friend—Mina can actually hear it, the moment it happens—that Mina needs her voice to overwrite and erase Momo’s.

“And you’re an actress and you can make it sound spontaneous and like you mean it.”

Mina blinks at the ensuing silence, glances out of her wide-paneled window, sees the faint outline of her feelings among the afternoon clouds, and feels a hiccup in her heartbeat.

 _“I_ would _mean it. Everyone means it, Mina.”_

There’s no appropriate response to this, so Mina waits.

 _“You know what I think, honestly?”_ Nayeon reads, and she means it in some fiercely honest way Mina wasn’t expecting. _“That you can do anything you want to do.”_

Two minutes later, Mina peers one last time at the trendline of Myoui Industries’ stocks. Things look much better than they did last night—drastically better than they did last morning.

She replays the words in her mind again, coats her heart and soul with them. Then, she takes four purposeful high-heeled steps onto the luxurious podium headlining the imposing conference chambers, bathed by blinding flashes and a deafening wall of murmurs, and begins.

-

“There were a lot of media cars outside,” Momo notes politely after she’s shown in to Mina’s extensive, pristine-white office, and takes a seat across her enormous black-glass desk. It’s an odd reversal of their positioning two days ago, when Mina was in the consultancy agency incurring a heart attack from seeing her ex-girlfriend again.

“I just finished giving a press conference,” is her sighed explanation as she reaches for a stack of papers and disanimatedly files it out of sight.

“Was it good or bad?”

Momo is treading a very thin, frail line between being friendly without quite being her friend, steadfast in her cordiality and professionalism. Mina could never have imagined Momo would become someone other than the endearingly clumsy mess of a girl she dated.

A small chuckle rises out of her at the question, and at the other memories, too. “It’s always bad if I’m the one giving it. The good ones are given by the CEO or our spokesperson.” She leans back into her chair, unthinkingly betraying some of her exhaustion—interacting with so many people is draining. Momo lifts an eyebrow at the sight and Mina recalls now how effortlessly Momo can read the rhythm of her movements. She follows her last assertion with a humored remark, because despite all the awkwardness between them it’s still somehow easy to slip back into the conversational habits they had. “I have to get lessons from Sana on how to be a better public speaker.”

An unreadable shadow tinges Momo’s features and now it’s Mina’s turn to frown. “Sorry… it’s just that we’re not supposed to know each other.” Her explanation has multiple layers of discomfort, Mina can tell. And now she knows how easily that earlier line can be crossed. “It’s weird, I know… I have to encourage you to disclose details about your personal life so I can use that to get a better gauge on your profile, but I can’t even respond to your comment about our common friends because that would disclose my own information to you, and that would be a breach of conduct.”

This one-sided dynamic required by the program is a disheartening revelation if she’s ever heard one, but Mina stifles her unease to manage this as she does every other painful situation in her life. “That’s fine. I won’t expect responses from you, then.”

“Um, so do you want to know how the program works?”

Her passive nod is apparently sufficient, because Momo immediately switches from palpable apprehension into an incredibly well-rehearsed and smoothly-delivered soliloquy about the process.

“So what we consultants do,” she concludes after a 2-minute explanation that is surprisingly fascinating, “is translate, so to speak, your emotions, actions, and reactions to each of our interviews and activities, into a numerical value, and input that into an algorithm our company has that makes all the calculations and is able to match you with someone else who has undergone our program.”

Fascinating and also strangely bleak, she amends inwardly.

“And you’re good at this, right? This translation portion?” Mina complements steadily. At Momo’s slight frown of surprise, she involuntarily smiles and adds, “Mr. Kang said you’re the best, and that’s why he picked you, since we didn’t have a lot of time. So I’m assuming you’re the best because you’re really good at that.”

Momo laughs a bit, and it reminds Mina that here she is, in flesh and bone, the ghost that’s been living inside her heart and under her skin. “Yeah, because of that and other things.” A small pause divides this sentence from her next one. “I have to ask you a couple of questions, to build your profile. There are some facts I already knew and that don’t change, so I took the liberty of filling them in already—things like your blood type, family background, and all that.”

She hopes she will never have to see whatever numerical value was assigned to her family—had she been born into any other set of parents, she’s not sure she would ever knowingly date a Myoui.

“There are a couple of other things I still have to ask, and you can feel free not to answer,” Momo states, and it’s only a barely-perceptible strain in her voice that has Mina tensing with whatever she’s going to say next. “We can start with your dating history.”

The universe… it must be pranking her.

“My dating history?” She can’t help restating the question, unsure of her own hearing capability.

For her part, Momo actually flinches—it’s a minute movement but it’s there. “We can skip it, if you want, but it’s an essential portion of your profile, for obvious reasons.” It’s causing her physical pain to verbalize this; Mina is certain because she knows how Momo’s facial expressions work, but also because if their roles were reversed, she’d most likely have walked out of the building already. 

“How far back are we going?” Mina poses instead, hoping the required time frame is perhaps a year or two, and not… five or six years, which would mean she’d have to include Momo.

Momo’s trepid pause gives it all away, of course, and Mina swallows down an aggravated groan. “Usually, about five years. If you want, you can just mention the long-term relationships.”

That, obviously, doesn’t help. Because Momo was very much a long-term relationship she had in the past five years. 

This entire experience must be some kind of cosmic punishment, she ponders in a split second of resentment she’s well-aware is misplaced. 

“I had, um, a long-term girlfriend in high school.” 

And she’s right in front of her. Her classmate, her friend (?), her ex, and now something undefined she has to navigate her life around.

“Then, in college, I dated guy for two years.”

What can only be divine intervention arranges for her father to call her right then—the sounded alert is unique and he is also one of the only people whose phone calls bypass her “do not disturb” settings.

She excuses herself with a polite motion to Momo and walks towards the opposite side of the unnecessarily gigantic office.

“Hi, dad.”

 _“I watched the press conference, Mina,”_ her father tells with pride, as is customary for him because she’s exactly the person he primed her to be. _“It was excellent. Stocks have leaped. Good job.”_

“Thank you. I’m glad and hope the improvement continues,” she says, without any of the accompanying excitement. “Dad, I’m kind of in a meeting right now, and am booked all day with other meetings. Can I call you back later?”

_“Any investor I know?”_

Mina debates the risk of being frank right now, as her lying skills still leave much to be desired. Perhaps being straightforward is the best alternative. “It’s not quite a meeting, I should say. It’s a session with the dating agency consultant you and mom contracted.”

_“Oh, and how is that going?”_

Catastrophically bad, is what she wants to say. If a conversation could be a natural disaster, the one she’s struggling to carry on with Momo would be a volcanic eruption that wipes out the earth’s population. And if her parents knew they unknowingly placed Momo back into her life, she ventures they would buy out Mr. Kang's company solely to fire Momo.

“It’s going well.”

_“Well, then I’ll let you get back to it. Keep your mom and I posted.”_

When she makes her way back to her desk, Momo is standing by the glass-paneled wall that provides a clear and far-reaching view of the city. Mina has always enjoyed the sight, which is why she keeps this office even when she feels dwarfed by the spartan expanse of it.

“Hey, are we looking out through one of the letters?” Momo queries, awe-filled. It takes Mina a second to understand the question, and then it clicks in her mind that Momo is referring to the massive ‘MYOUI INDUSTRIES’ sign branding the skyscraper.

“Yeah, this office is right behind the ‘O’ letter,” she replies smilingly, pointing to a metal frame barely poking out above the last few visible inches of the wall. “You can actually see part of the school from here.”

And that’s a lapse of their one-way dynamic discussed earlier, which she immediately regrets, but Momo’s noticeably perked interest has apparently made her miss the slip, so Mina takes the liberty of gently pulling her by the arm towards another corner of the office, only a couple of feet from their previous location.

“That sort of green area behind that grey building—do you see it?” She points and isn’t sure Momo is going to find the distant, blurry site. 

“Oh! That’s the delinquent spot,” Momo chuckles with amazement, turning to her then with a grin that floods Mina with a sort of discomfort within her own body, of not knowing what do with herself, with her hands.

Mina asks herself what it would be like to just stop feeling like this. It was so much easier, when she was living overseas, to pretend Momo was just some bad habit her body didn’t seem able to break, and not someone who’s made Mina wonder if her entire life is going to be defined by a regret she has from 5 years ago. Now she lives in Seoul and works in a building that overlooks the place she met Momo. It’s hard to contain the yearning, always ablaze inside her, to leave all this behind and start over somewhere she doesn’t have the weight of her memories hanging over her head.

Which is why she’s selling every property she has here and moving back to Japan, she reminds herself firmly. She really only has to make it through the next 3 months, a period after which she will conclude this mess of a dating consultancy, and leave this country.

She watches Momo’s continued appraisal of the overwhelming sight before them, still absorbed and mesmerized. “Do you want to continue with the interview?” she queries quietly, mindful of the little time she has available.

“Oh, yeah—sorry about that.” Her noticeable fluster as she swipes through different screens in her tablet is nothing short of disarming—so much changes, and so much stays the same. “Okay, we can move on to something else. How about this: tell me about your educational background.”

-

** THE PAST **

Momo has but one goal she must meet today as part of the operation concocted by Jeongyeon and Sana last night: she must be rude and unwelcoming to Myoui Mina, her assigned transfer student. And contrary to what appeared to be a consensus among her friends, this is something she can totally do. It’ll perhaps be a bit more difficult for her than it will for her friends, because Momo is naturally friendly and polite and hasn’t had much practice—or any, really—insulting or demeaning anyone, but make no mistake; she can do this. As she leads Myoui to a shaded area outside the auditorium to begin their tour, she assures herself over and over again—she, Hirai Momo, will be a mean, _evil_ person today.

After retrieving the bundle of sopping wet papers from her backpack, she carefully pulls apart the pages that have stuck to one another, assessing whether any of them can be salvaged. Her ears feel warm with embarrassment, and she decides to explain her action with a mumbled, “my energy drink accidentally exploded inside my backpack, all over my orientation booklet…” The itinerary map, indicating campus locations that would be part of their three-hour tour, is completely ruined, and Momo sighs as she casts it aside. “So I’m just trying to see whether I can still use any of these pages…” 

From Chaeyoung’s briefing the night before, Momo has some idea of who this girl is, and what to expect. They’ve known one another for barely 2 minutes now and yet, even if Momo had never been informed of her last name, the external signs of wealth are all unmissable; the clothes, the watch, the expensive book-bag, the indescribable air of self-possession Momo has only seen in very affluent people. And the fact that she’s noticeably economical in her movements and expressions and is showing no inclination to striking up a conversation with Momo confirms that she is, indeed, shy and reserved. Momo would be fine with silence for the next three hours, of course; she’s not the most outgoing of her friends, either—that would be Sana, no contest—but she’s detecting a thoughtful edge to this girl’s timidity that’s a little unnerving, because Momo had been bracing herself for someone snobby and rude.

She definitely has not been bracing herself for someone who chooses that moment to edge forward with a small, careful step, and inquire, “do you need any help?”

Instinctively, Momo chances a glance up at the girl in front of her and that turns out to be a terrible mistake, because Myoui Mina is watching her with a patient kind of interest, and her face is _horribly_ distracting. This isn’t the first time Momo’s laid eyes on her, of course—unfortunately, they’ve already been a lot closer than this—but every time Momo sees her there’s a sudden and renewed flare of shock she can’t help, at how difficult it is to look directly at her and how equally difficult it is to look away.

She knows what this is, of course. She’s been attracted to people before. In this specific instance of it, however, the intensity of her nervousness is particularly awful (for some inexplicable reason that Momo guesses has to do with their encounter yesterday), and it almost makes Momo lose track of what she’s doing and where they’re supposed to be going. It’s alarming and annoying and very inconvenient, and drives Momo to decide she will actually have _two_ goals for today, the second of which being that she will absolutely not look at any part of this girl’s face. Or at least for any length of time longer than one second.

Yes, two goals. Both easy, and totally doable. 

Momo crushes the sensation into something smaller and more manageable; averts her eyes and concentrates on the mess of papers in her hands, answering gently, “no, it’s fine; thank you for offering,” before remembering, disheartened, that this was a good opportunity to be rude and she didn’t take it.

She regroups and notes, “I guess this one is okay,” as she fishes out the least-soaked page in the bundle, which happens to be the orientation introduction message. She decides to temporarily suspend her Evil Momo plan to provide at least this basic piece of information to this girl—maybe there’s something important here that she’s obligated to say—and tries to decipher the smudged letters by squinting and holding the page approximately an inch from her eyes. “Okay, so I’m supposed to read something to you before we start,” she tells an attentive Myoui; “it’s a speech, kind of. I’ve never been a transfer mentor—someone from the student council usually does this for the transfer students—so I don’t have this memorized… so I’ll have to read it off to you, if you don’t mind.”

There’s an agreeing nod from Myoui that Momo detects in her peripheral vision, and after clearing her throat, she proceeds with her attempt to make sense of the blurred ink smeared through most of the page.

“Good morning,” Momo begins to recite, deep in concentration to decode the barely legible letters; “my name is Insert Name. Oh, sorry; that was supposed to be my name—my name is Hirai Momo.” This is... not starting out well. A particularly large blotch of ink stains the entire middle section of the page and Momo has to study its edges for a second to piece the sentence together before resuming. “On behalf of the JYP High School body of students and… faculty, I think…? I would like to welcome you to JYP High School with open farms— _arms_ ; I meant arms. Sorry; the ink’s all smudged,” she rushes to correct, peeking from behind the page for a millisecond and catching sight of Myoui donning the tiniest frown Momo’s ever seen. “We will ensure your transition to our student body is sea legs—seamless, I mean; sorry again… um, our exciting tour will cover many places in the campus. Please feel free to ask questions should you have any comments or concerts—sorry, I meant concerns.” Sheepishly, Momo lowers the mess of a paper to meet Myoui’s gaze, somewhat relieved when she finds it to be inquisitive rather than mocking. “I don’t have the itinerary map,” Momo gestures to the pile of discarded papers; “so I’m not actually sure which parts of the campus I’m supposed to show you, but I’ll take you around the important buildings.”

With that, Momo motions to the main cluster of classrooms and, after walking a few feet in that direction and traversing the grassy area, she notices that they’ve fallen into step and the companionable silence she had already anticipated.

The nearest building happens to be one Momo actually likes and is most likely vacant at this time, so she brightens as they approach it, and when she props the door open and Myoui follows her inside, she doesn’t try to contain a tinge of enthusiasm as she announces, “this is our gymnasium. I’m here a lot because this is where the cheerleaders practice most days.”

Their shoes draw low squeaking noises from the waxed wooden floors as they near the centermost area of the court, but Myoui pauses and an eyebrow raise precedes the girl asking with quiet interest, “you’re a cheerleader? I’m one, too.”

“Vice-captain, right?” It’s automatic and then the eyebrow raise takes place again, except higher this time, and Momo stiffens when she remembers that this isn’t something she’s supposed to know.

“Yes, I am. Did the mentors receive a file on the transferring students or something like that?”

Her tone isn’t accusatory or even suspicious, but a blush heats Momo’s skin nonetheless and she fights an impulse to admit, _yes, as a matter of fact, one of my friends tried to hack into your personal information, why do you ask?_ Instead, she clears her throat and stammers uncomfortably, “um. Yeah. Sort of—something like that.” 

By all accounts, Momo is an awful liar, and it’s been a recurring joke among every one of her acquaintances that she’d never get away with the smallest attempt at dishonesty. But she watches Myoui nod her acceptance of Momo’s poorly-delivered lie without any hesitation or second-guessing, and it dawns on her that she’s dealing with someone who clearly isn’t used to being lied to. A lump of discomfort makes itself known inside her throat but she swallows it down immediately.

“I’m a captain, too,” she blurts out, hoping to re-direct the conversation back to the one topic that seems to be of mutual interest. “Well, Yoo Jeongyeon and I are co-captains; we don’t have a captain/vice-captain structure. I choreograph and she does all the logistical stuff.”

She notices belatedly that her lingering unease and restlessness have made her pace an almost complete circle around the girl, who’s been shifting accordingly to maintain their relative positions, and now appears to be following her words with a faint smile. The calm, steadfast quality of her and the emptiness of the gymnasium have blurred together to create a sort of stillness in the world that makes Momo aware of the sound of her own breathing. It’s awful and she smothers the sensation away.

“I choreograph, too,” is what Myoui comments lightly in response. “I was in ballet first and then got into cheerleading, so our routines tend to have some ballet elements. Im Nayeon—maybe you’ve met her; she’s a senior, too—” (at this, Momo barely holds in a snort) “—she’s our captain, and she handles our schedules for practice, our uniforms, and everything else.”

Momo’s curiosity, piqued yesterday when Chaeyoung revealed this particular fact, re-emerges in her mind, and she queries, “have you been a ballerina for a long time? Do you still dance it?”

“I began ballet when I was a young child, but nowadays I don’t dance it as frequently as I should to maintain the regimen,” she discloses regretfully, “which is a pity because there’s a really good instructor at the place I usually practice in, Sharon’s Studio, but often I can’t really find the time.”

Jeongyeon’s voice saunters up from her subconscious and a smirking Momo finds herself re-telling the joke she’s heard countless times, from countless people, before she can quite catch herself. “Oh, Sharon’s Studio—that’s where capitalism learned to dance.” Intrigued, Myoui turns to her completely now to watch her, the suggestion of a smile curving the corner of her lips. Momo feels emboldened to explain with a chuckle, “you know, because it’s so fancy and expensive and huge, and it’s downtown and no one knows who this Sharon person is.” 

And then Myoui flushes and laughs for the first time since they began their tour—a soft sound that pulls from Momo an automatic smile she has no time to contain. That is, until the girl reveals helpfully, “well, you know her now. I’m Sharon.”

The ground quakes underneath Momo’s feet as though preparing to swallow her into its depths, and her good-humored grin vanishes instantly, along with any trace of dignity she still had left. Her voice is a mortified squeak when she queries, “ _eh?_ ”

“I was born overseas, in Texas. That’s my American name.” Besides the dusting of pink on her cheeks, there’s also some clear amusement that Momo spots, but all Momo can think about in this moment is _oh my God why didn’t Chaeyoung find this information Jesus effing Christ is there a way to unsay something_ — “When my family moved here to Seoul from Tokyo, my father bought that business space and had it built into a dance studio so I could have a place to practice. And he has a thing for putting our name on things, so he named it after me.”

It’s hard for Momo to come up with something to say when the heat of her shame is burning up her face and her neck, so furiously that she might burst into flames.

“Um…” She clears her throat and still emits a yip-like sound; tries again. “I think I’m going to die of embarrassment right now,” she breathes out, unable to look the girl in the eye. “So I’d appreciate it if you told my parents I love them and that I want to be buried in my uniform.”

Myoui chuckles, drawing closer to Momo to reassure, “it’s fine, really.”

An accompanying whiff of the familiar perfume plucks at her memory from yesterday, which is a tad disconcerting, but the words themselves do little to damper Momo’s mortification. She cringes her eyes closed and mumbles, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make fun of that—I hear it’s an amazing studio and it must be really nice having something cool named after you.” When she redirects her attention, she observes the entertained glint in the girl’s eyes and has to add ruefully, “I wish I could say all this embarrassing stuff I’m doing is part of the tour but, um, it’s not.”

“I never would have guessed,” Myoui remarks in a teasing jab that somehow still sounds formal and polite.

“You might be shocked by this, but the itinerary for this wasn’t supposed to be, ‘on your left, you can see our recently-renovated library. Here’s a random insult about something you own,’” Myoui’s ensuing laugh rings freer than her last; clear and bemused, and in a part of her mind, Momo registers her own heart jumping a bit at this; “‘on your right is our infirmary, and here’s a kiss you didn’t ask for.’” At her unprepared mention of yesterday’s catastrophe, Momo winces again and almost trips over her words when she rushes to apologize. “Oh, yeah, and about that—I forgot to tell you but I’m also sorry for kissing you yesterday.”

Myoui shakes her head minutely and counters, “no, I had meant to apologize to you, actually, for disrupting your game.”

It’s the sudden burst of memory of Jeongyeon’s half-hearted attempt at comforting Momo last night that has Momo disclosing brightly, “you helped me, actually, so I can maybe win something at the end of the year.” The inquisitive tilt of Myoui’s head is enough to fuel her to elaborate, “there’s a tradition we have at JYP; a bucket list the seniors in our school try to complete every year before graduation, and one of the tasks is to kiss a stranger. See?” She pulls out the paper from a pocket and proceeds to unfold it, shuffling closer to Myoui and smiling when the girl’s eyes begin to scan the list of items with unhidden fascination. “I’ve done some of them, like last week I ate a food I think is disgusting—I’m never eating another mushroom again—and last month I didn’t use my phone for a week. Next week, I’m thinking I’m going to try this one.” 

Her index finger taps a spot on the paper and Myoui reads it off with an arched eyebrow. “You’re going to embarrass yourself in public?”

“Well, that was always going to be an easy one—I already embarrass myself a lot, as you already saw.” Momo glimpses a quick smile the girl throws her way when she glances up from the page, but Momo is shrugging as her own gaze sweeps the itemized list. “There are some harder ones, and some are kind of cheesy… ‘spend an entire day with a grandparent or other elderly person,’ ‘watch a sunrise or sunset,’ ‘make someone happy…’”

“‘Pet 30 animals in one day’ sounds really great,” Myoui states with an amount of excitement that catches Momo off-guard because after all the signs she’s detected of her introverted nature and restraint, this is an unexpectedly overt display of emotion. It must mean something good, she thinks, that for all the initial weight of awkwardness and the accidental insults, the girl is comfortable enough to show this.

Momo blinks the thought away and reflects wistfully, “yeah, that’s the one I’m looking forward to the most. I’m saving it for when I can really enjoy it, since I’ve been really busy lately.”

“It’s a nice tradition,” Myoui comments distractedly, still reading the list.

She has no idea what makes her ask, “did you guys have any of those at SM?”

And then she deeply regrets her question when Myoui withdraws her attention from the paper and directs it back to Momo. She had failed to notice their increased closeness, had failed to prevent it. And now they’re within friendly proximity and it’s _terrifying_ , because the girl’s perfume reminds Momo of a spring garden in full bloom and looking at her face is like looking at the sky.

“... a charity auction thing, but that’s about it. So your traditions sound more fun than the ones we have. Or _had_ , I should say.” 

Crap. She missed the entire first portion of that sentence. The last half, though, it floats in her mind for a few seconds. 

Had.

Momo wants to unhear it, wishes Myoui hadn’t said this, wishes she hadn’t sounded so earnest.

It’s a relief then, when the gymnasium door is swung open by another pair of mentor and transfer students, and Momo jumps at the opportunity to exit the building and lead them to the area immediately adjacent, the sports field.

“I’m taking you to our stadium next; it just got renovated and expanded last year so it looks really cool.” Once they’re standing just outside the fence’s metal zig-zag and surveying the worn-out track, slightly overgrown lawn, and faded colors of the bleachers, Momo realizes what a generous overstatement that was, and then has to purse her lips and mutter, “sorry; I kind of hyped it up but it’s not that exciting to see and you’ve probably seen better ones.”

Momo’s darted look in the girl’s direction reveals to her the amusing sight of Myoui’s reaction to her statement; her impassive expression shifts, her eyes widen, and she gestures vaguely to the field while stating self-consciously, “no, it’s definitely exciting. Really. It’s, um… quite… large.”

First, Momo feels something like an odd fondness bubble up from her stomach, as she realizes that Myoui Mina, teenage billionaire, is making an honest effort to look impressed by a public school sports field.

Then, she almost laughs. Because good God, what a terrible effort that was—she’s found a worse liar than her. It’s a miracle.

Momo trains her eyes at the ground for a few seconds, chewing the inside of her cheek to fight down the urge to laugh. Then, without allowing herself much time to deliberate whether she’s overestimating their burgeoning familiarity, and whether the girl will be offended and they’ll really start this off on the wrong foot, she glances up at the nervous girl and quips, “you’re really bad at pretending to be impressed with something.”

Instead of any trace of affront, however, what Myoui displays is a discreet blush of panic that’s a little endearing even before she amends stiltedly, visibly searching for words, “I’m just not very expressive, but this is really… well-built…? Very organized. Structurally, it looks very sound. Definitely exciting.”

It would’ve been painful to watch her try again to state this convincingly, if it weren’t also so entertaining.

“Yes, you definitely look very, very excited,” Momo teases again. Cheerily, she lifts her chin to point to the cafeteria nearby. “Let’s go to our next _very exciting_ location.”

At the entrance to the eating area currently occupied solely by the scattered tables, Momo motions to the suspended chalkboard announcing the day’s menu options, and informs with subtle revulsion, “this is our cafeteria, and as you can see, they’re serving pad thai later today at lunch.”

“You don’t like the food offered here?” 

Momo realizes her slip and explains quickly, “oh, I didn’t mean it like that; the food here is great. And I know all the cooks; they’re all super nice. It’s just that I work in a Thai restaurant, so I’ve eaten enough pad thai in my life to become a pad thai noodle.” 

Myoui’s sigh, accompanying an appraising look at the vacant space, is weighed by something Momo doesn’t want to examine, because it sounds a whole lot like sadness and makes her remember the word “had;” it makes her mind inevitably flash to news clippings and videos of the charred ruins of the school this girl used to attend and have traditions in. Momo is catching all these glimpses into this girl’s mind that she doesn’t want to see, because she doesn’t want to ache inside like this.

Impulsively, she advances to the freezer area just as Myoui is turning back to her and querying curiously, “so where is it that you work?”

Momo is bending down to slide the freezer open, peeking inside and enjoying the momentary blast of cold, before giving her a muffled reply of, “this place called The Thai-tanic. I’m actually trying to get out of there; we’re always short-staffed and there’s a restaurant I’m trying to get a position in this summer that serves the best pork dishes. If I get hired there, I’ll eat for free.” She struggles a bit to scoop out two servings of the day’s ice cream—pistachio, with an entirely mismatched white color—into two bowls, and adds with a distracted grunt, “I’m even taking a culinary arts elective so I can put that in my application and look more qualified. You should go there, if you never have; they serve the best jokbal in the city.” Finally, she backs out of the freezer and sets down the two small bowls atop the nearest table, re-considering her last words. “Well, obviously you’ve had better; you’re a billionaire with your own chefs—”

Myoui Mina, excessively polite thus far, immediately interrupts her to affirm, “no, I’ve actually found that many of my favorite meals have been served in simpler restaurants. Is that your favorite food? Jokbal?”

Momo extends her one of the bowls and grins her way through her answer. “Yes, it is. But from this specific place. I’m telling you—it’s heaven.” 

Myoui takes the bowl from her with a small smile that’s abashed and uncertain and really, really lovely. It had never been an easy goal, she realizes now, keeping herself from looking at this face. And it’s only become progressively more difficult. 

There’s a point to what she’s doing right now, however, and it steers her focus, even if her cheeks have reddened with what she hopes is merely the lingering exertion of digging through the frozen slab of this dessert.

“We have another tradition here at JYP,” she clarifies, steadying herself again. “The school is really cheap and buys this budget ice cream with all these artificial colorings and flavorings. You can’t tell what the flavors are supposed to be by what the ice cream looks like, so the students have this little competition where you try to guess the flavor just by tasting it. Students who have been here a while get really good at it.”

A clearly intrigued Myoui examines her bowl and then proceeds to raise a small spoonful to her mouth. After a second of tasting it, she guesses tentatively, “is it mango?” 

There’s a moment in which all Momo does is stare at her with disbelief, which is probably why the girl guesses again, even less certain this time, “or peach?” Momo is unable to contain her laughter this time, just as a disheartened Myoui is remarking, “I’m not even close, am I?”

“Nope,” Momo answers pointedly, trying out her own scoop and laughing again because even though the tastes sometimes can be a challenge to figure out, this one is definitely not, so Myoui’s guesses are _terrible_. “It’s not even a fruit.”

“Green tea?”

Momo has to set down her bowl this time, not trusting herself to keep from spilling its contents while she laughs again, noticing the jovial sound echoing through the empty expanse of the cafeteria.

“White chocolate?”

There’s no controlling the impulse that overcomes Momo then as she’s halfway through a chortle, to reach out and nudge the girl’s forearm for a second, and to request laughingly, “you’re awful at this—please stop guessing. It’s pistachio.”

Touching Myoui Mina is simultaneously the best and worst thing she’s done today. It reminds her of yesterday and worsens all the terrifying sensations Momo has been battling to suppress today. The entirety of their second-long contact feels a little like her brain is rebooting; it delays her reaction and she doesn’t quite get to express her horror through a facial expression. She’s still grinning when Myoui murmurs mildly, “is this it then? I’ll never be a true JYP student because I’m bad at guessing ice cream flavors?” 

And it’s that still-fading daze of breathless agitation that pulls the words from her and sparks her muscles into action before her sane, reasonable side has any input. 

“You want to be a true JYP student? Follow me, then.”

This time Momo lets her hand hover over the girl’s arm, silently asking permission, and then the corner of Myoui’s lips twitch in a tiny smile as she gestures her assent. Promptly, Momo secures a gentle hold of her forearm and leads her out through the cafeteria’s back door and into an undeveloped part of the campus lot. Her ears feel hot again—Myoui’s skin is soft and warm and Momo is _not_ noticing it.

It’s a short, strides-long trek through a path of overgrown trees and forest bushes, and then when they’re a few steps from the intended destination, still within view of the cafeteria building, Momo stops and turns to the girl behind her, planning on checking her progress through the uneven terrain.

An odd sight greets her—someone so pretty, attired in a dark and pristine uniform, easily and openly trusting and following Momo’s lead while sweeping an inspecting gaze around them—and Momo wonders if this feeling of unsteadiness is ever going to go away, or whether she’ll always be in this battle against herself every time Myoui Mina is around.

“Where are we?” Myoui inquires with wonder-like interest, just as Momo draws back her hand and resists the urge to shake off the last traces of the girl’s warmth from her hand.

“We’re not there yet,” Momo settles for replying, shaking her head clear once again. “I just wanted to make sure you’d be excited this time, and not super underwhelmed like you were when I took you to the stadium.”

The sound of Myoui’s laugh fills the small distance between them, expanding out to be absorbed by their wooden enclosure. 

“I wasn’t underwhelmed,” is her weak, chuckling retort.

“You’re a terrible liar. Like, the worst I’ve ever met.”

“Fine.” A grin is pulling at the girl’s mouth; Momo can tell. “I promise I’ll be very excited this time.”

“How am I going to know you’re actually excited, since you’re ‘not expressive?’” Momo pokes, adding jokingly, “take your pulse?”

There’s a pensive pause from the girl and then she’s instructing smoothly, “okay, take my pulse now and then take it again after we get to the place,” which is truly not something Momo was expecting her to say, but that she agrees to anyway.

Executing her own idea, Myoui extends her arm forward just as Momo unthinkingly raises her own hand to the girl’s neck and then both of them halt midair before any physical contact is established and Momo knows it—truly, truly knows it, that this is the day she will die of embarrassment.

“Yeah, um, that was—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I know how to take a pulse from a wrist—I have no idea why I went for your neck—that was stupid—” Momo stammers in mortification, but Myoui interjects with another laugh, bemused and entirely unbothered.

“I think it’s because your hand and my neck have met before.”

And then the mortification multiplies tenfold when she catches on that Myoui is teasing her over the kiss again, and Momo just wants some deity to strike her down and take her soul—she’s ready to die, she really is.

“We’re never going to forget that, are we?” Momo cringes, eyes shifting down to stare at the crushed leaves dotting the ground beneath them.

“Not any time soon,” the smiling girl assures, pulling Momo’s attention back to her when she offers her wrist again.

Momo pushes past a bundle of anxiety coiling in her stomach, and holds Myoui’s wrist, pale and slender, between her own thumb and index fingers. She knows this is a mistake, 0.2 seconds after she performs the action. She knows it but watches herself carry on anyway, glancing down at her watch to ascertain the time and honing in her focus to the steady drum of heartbeats _(one, two, three, four)_. 

Once she’s established the patterned throb under her fingertip, Momo dips her voice barely above a whisper to remark absentmindedly in an effort to bury her chagrin underneath a joke, “that was a really bad way to meet your mentor, huh?”

_(Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen)_

The woodsy smell of the forest enclosing them is slowly giving way to the scent of a perfume that had chased the girl after their sudden nearness, a scent carried by the breeze blowing gently around them, a scent whose flowery notes Momo is already memorizing, without trying, without really wanting to. It makes her worried she’s going to remember this next time she comes to this place; that some part of her will expect it to smell the same.

“It was certainly an intimate introduction.”

Momo chuckles again, this time at the smirk and the quirk of the girl’s eyebrow.

_(Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four)_

“When you’re done having fun getting on my case about this, let me know.”

_(Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight)_

Another small laugh ripples through Myoui’s body as she quips softly, “it might be a while. It was pretty memorable; you were the first person I spoke to when I came here.”

_(Fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two)_

Momo smiles down at her watch, scrutinizing its movement in the last seconds. 

“Got it—71 beats in a minute,” Momo declares victoriously after the minute has elapsed. “Are you ready to be a true JYP student?”

Myoui nods again, smiling at her as though on the verge of laughter. Encouraged, Momo crouches down to walk underneath a low-hanging branch, and Myoui follows suit. Then, they’re in a small area behind a grouping of trees, standing on a soft carpet of grass, and Momo announces with a sweeping, ceremonious gesture of her hand, “and here we are. This is where we JYP students cut class.” 

It’s several kinds of disarming, the incredulous grin that overcomes her features then. “Really? You’re my mentor and you brought me to where students break school rules?”

“Oh, wait—” Momo jolts, remembering; “I have to take your pulse again to see if it got faster and you’re impressed.”

Even through the girl’s entertained laugh, Momo repeats the same procedure from before; rests a gentle pair of fingers against the pulse point on her wrist, raises her watch, and begins to count again. 

_(One, two, three, four)_

The second time isn’t any easier on her heart and her stomach; it feels like an extraordinary act of courage to do this again, when she knows what happened last time. But Momo does it anyway.

“Don’t tell me you’re a junior and have never cut class before,” Momo murmurs, hoping to distract her mind through conversation.

“I haven’t, actually,” is the chuckled response. Momo’s scandalized disbelief is probably apparent on her face, because the girl goes on to elaborate, “when my older brother was in school, he was a bit rebellious, and my father’s business opponents sometimes would bring up his delinquency record and use it against my parents.”

_(Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three)_

Her tone has darkened somewhat; attained a dejected texture that reminds Momo of loneliness.

“I’ve always followed every school rule, so I won’t publicly disgrace my family. The last name… it kind of forces me to behave well.”

She wasn’t planning on looking at Myoui during this measured minute, remembering that goal that’s escaped her mind so many times today, remembering that they’re too close and the headiness of her perfume is doing her no favors, but something about this exchange pulls her eyes to meet the girl’s own.

Momo almost loses count.

There are narrow slits of sunlight filtered by the surrounding trees, bathing select parts of the girl’s face, and Momo wonders in a thought whispered inside her if she’s like Im Nayeon; if she knows she’s attractive.

_(Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven)_

“Yeah, from what I’ve seen today, you’d have been really wild and reckless if the name didn’t keep you in check,” Momo jokes, fainter than she intended.

“You’ve figured me out so well,” Myoui retorts, smiling again. 

_(Forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven)_

There’s a mole on her forearm, just above her wrist; tiny and perfectly round. Momo studies its shape and placement and wonders if Myoui’s ever counted them. Wonders whether she’s noticed any particular pattern to how they’re arranged on her skin; whether she’s named any of them; whether she has a favorite one.

There’s a swell of something—something nameless, something weighty—rushing up her head. Momo pushes back against it.

The minute concludes and Momo breaks into laughter, not quite releasing the girl’s wrist yet. “Oh my God—your heart rate was 68! It actually got _slower_!” Myoui joins her in laughter, except hers is decidedly sheepish and almost apologetic. “See; this is why I can’t show you any other exciting places anymore—nothing impresses you.”

Her light-hearted pestering prompts Myoui to lay a gentle slap on her shoulder. The feather-light feel of it still manages to spark a feverish kind of goosebump all along the surface of Momo’s skin, and she almost panics immediately, because if she had ever thought touching Myoui Mina was nerve-wrecking, being touched by her is like getting kicked in the lungs.

While the girl’s laughter softens into a grin, Momo runs other words through her mind again, processes the inflection and its undercurrent of melancholy.

“Hey, you mentioned your last name… what is it again?”

She blinks in surprise, a response that’s a step below a double-take. _Everyone knows this name_ is unsaid, but suspended in the air between them. “Myoui.”

Momo begins to shift subtly to the side in order to switch their positions, trusting that this girl will both notice her joking tone and mirror her movements as she did when they were in the gymnasium.

“That name kind of rings a bell. Is it a famous name or something? I feel like I’ve seen it somewhere.”

A buzz of excitement thrums in between all her muscles the moment they’ve finally switched; when Momo is standing with her back to the Seoul skyline, and the girl’s gaze flickers from Momo to the imposing high-rise towering amidst its adjacent skyscrapers behind the school, carrying her name. The joke clicks into place and she laughs happily and immediately, a flutter of melody that attaches itself somewhere inside Momo’s chest.

“If only I could figure out where I’ve seen it; if only I could remember,” Momo prods on, bolstered by the excitement of making someone laugh so freely like this. “If only there was a building I could look at so I’d know why it sounds so familiar.”

Finally, the girl’s laugh simmers down into a wide, brilliant beam that’s fixed squarely on Momo and that seems to be physically tipping Momo over, like it’s altering the gravitational axis of the world.

“I’m completely fine if you never remember my last name,” Mina replies brightly, and underneath the cheerfulness and almost-laughter, there’s that same hum of sadness from before that makes Momo think she might not be entirely joking. 

“Well, since I can’t remember your name at all, I guess I’ll just have to call you Sharon,” Momo taunts with a laugh that deepens at the sight of the girl’s instant, subtle glare.

“And I guess I’ll call you Insert Name unnie.”

Momo gives her an exaggerated gasp of affront that almost falters when the girl laughs again.

The distant shrill of a bell reaches them just as they’re grinning at one another. Momo can’t switch off this smile; isn’t sure she wants to, either.

“You’ve tried our budget ice cream and know where our delinquent spot is,” Momo comments lightly. “I have the honor of christening you an official JYP student.”

-

The seniors are instructed to remain for an extra hour after the juniors are dismissed so as to receive additional information on graduation, and Momo can’t find it in herself to resist the temptation of texting Mina after she and her fellow junior students vacate their area of the auditorium.

She begins to copy the address to the jokbal restaurant she had mentioned and for whose information Mina had asked, when she finds herself facing Jeongyeon and Im Nayeon, freshly arrived from their own tour.

“Thank you for the tour, Yoo—it was fun while it never started.” Without as much as a breathing pause, Im turns to Momo and scoffs snappily, “listen here, Felon #2; your friend here gave me a tour of your hell-hole school that consisted of her showing me only the bathrooms and supply closets, with a final stop at the parking lot, where she told me—I quote—‘and this is from where you can leave this school forever if you want to.’”

Beside them, Jeongyeon is cackling with victory and Momo purses back a smile. 

“If I find out,” Im proceeds to drawl out, taking one other dangerous step closer to Momo, “that you gave Mina this same shitty tour, I hope you like the ocean, because I will _push you off a cliff_.”

“There are no cliffs in Seoul, Im,” Jeongyeon snorts, unfazed.

“Have we met?” is Im’s instant disdainful reply. “My family has a jet. Your friend’s transportation to a cliff can be arranged.”

With that, the girl storms off, and Momo spares no additional second before she’s completing her text to Mina and pressing SEND.

“Tell me; what does Sana hate most in the world?” Jeongyeon whispers to her when everyone has taken a seat inside the auditorium and are beginning to nod off to the principal’s long-winded speech on mutual collaboration and the importance of “collegial friendship.”

Momo doesn’t take long to guess. “When we run practice late after school and she doesn’t get to see Dahyun?”

 **[Mina Something-Something | 12:03]** _This is the place that serves the jokbal that tastes like heaven?_

Momo has to make an extraordinary effort not to grin down at her phone when she spots Mina’s reply, and tries to discreetly send her own text back.

 **[Insert Name unnie | 12:04]** _Yes, that’s the place_  
**[Insert Name unnie | 12:04]** _If you go right now, you can get the jokbal as a lunch special_  
**[Insert Name unnie | 12:05]** _Not that you need the discount_

“Well, okay, yes,” Jeongyeon agrees with a shrug. “But besides that; what does she specifically hate doing as the student body president?”

It takes Momo even less time to guess this one. “She hates tagging along for those boring building inspections with the city council people.”

“Exactly,” Jeongyeon confirms gleefully. “So you know how the administration wanted Sana and Park Jihyo to share duties as student council presidents—to work together and whatever? Guess who Sana booked to do all her building inspections for the next month.”

Momo processes Jeongyeon’s reveal just as her friend is extending her hand for a subtle high-five, out of view from the teachers and staff present.

 **[Mina Something-Something | 12:07]** _I was planning on taking advantage of being dismissed early and going to the studio, but who can say no to the jokbal lunch special with the discount_

__

“And I’ve done something of my own to my target,” Jeongyeon murmurs conspiratorially, and Momo is instantly worried because she’s never heard this tone precede any good idea. “Kind of took some inspiration from your accident this morning. You’ll see after we get out of here.”

 **[Insert Name unnie | 12:09]** _You should go to the studio_  
**[Insert Name unnie | 12:09]** _Ballet needs you_  
**[Insert Name unnie | 12:10]** _But on the way to the studio you should get some ice cream and practice your taste guessing skills_

They’re finally dismissed and Jeongyeon immediately yanks Momo outside, concealing them behind a pillar overlooking a locker section. Momo is momentarily confused, especially when Im Nayeon, reading off a paper that Momo recognizes is from her orientation packet, begins to open one of the lockers.

“Watch this,” Jeongyeon whispers with a snicker, and then a second later, Im has pulled the locker door open and an enormous pile of whipped-cream-like white sludge has slithered out from the locker and splattered onto the floor, followed by a half-dozen soaked books.

It’s something like a superpower, how quickly Im pivots in their exact direction (hiding position be damned), and stomps over to them like an ominous hurricane about to destroy an entire state.

“ _Hilarious_ ,” she growls while Jeongyeon is doubling over in laughter. “As if I’m not used to things getting wet around me.” Momo’s eyebrow twitches at the innuendo but Im’s attention is solely focused on the friend beside her. “Your ass is grass and I’m going to _mow_ it, Yoo Jeongyeon.”

Jeongyeon catches her breath sufficiently to retort, “I’m about as scared of you as I am of a dandelion, Im.”

It alarms Momo once again how absolutely self-assured Im Nayeon is, in how her reaction to Jeongyeon’s taunt is only a disbelieving, pitying, “who do you think you’re dealing with, here?”

“Voldemort, if he was a 17-year-old Korean girl,” a snarky Jeongyeon responds with ease.

It takes one second of Im Nayeon studying Jeongyeon intently, gaze scrutinizing and calculating; a million schemes forming behind her eyes in a terrifying flash of malice, for Momo to know that Jeongyeon might be underestimating this girl a bit.

“Fine. War it is.” Her words are pointed and direct, certain as though carved in stone. “I can handle a little annoyance from you—might even liven up this garbage fire of a school.” But then her eyes burrow into Momo’s, who bristles but stands her ground. “You, on the other hand—if you even _think_ about pranking Mina I will chop your limbs off and throw your body in a ditch.”

“Don’t threaten my friends,” an irritated Jeongyeon interjects, only to be completely dismissed by an unbothered Im.

“You’re completely unnecessary to this conversation, and also to society and the world in general.”

There’s a fleeting moment during which Momo considers telling Im Nayeon that she understands completely why she’d want to protect Mina; that in the last three hours, she saw the side of her that can’t lie to save her life and can’t spot a lie being told to her, either; the side of her that’s shy but trusting and misses her previous school and is perhaps not entirely comfortable with her own last name. Momo wants to tell her this but she can’t, because Jeongyeon is her best friend and their hostility is palpably sharp.

“You don’t intimidate me,” Momo states as a response, calm because she means it.

“Not yet.” Im leans forward with a menacing glower. “Don’t tempt me, Hirai.”

When Im storms off with the usual dangerous and purposeful strides, Momo turns back to her phone instantly, only vaguely aware of Jeongyeon’s scoff beside her.

 **[Mina Something-Something | 12:11]** _I would have guessed pistachio eventually_

She can’t bite down her smile this time—it bursts into her features just as Jeongyeon is grunting, “honestly, who does she think she is?”

 **[Mina Something-Something | 12:12]** _And for the record, you can practice in the studio any time if you’d like_  
**[Mina Something-Something | 12:12]** _Unless all the capitalism is off-putting to you_

Momo coughs in order to cover a laugh.

Sana finally joins them, and seems to need no information to deduce that Jeongyeon’s plan was effective, because she promptly high-fives Jeongyeon as well.

“I told Momo about what you did to Park Jihyo.”

“Yep. And that’s how a student council president sabotages another one. Take notes, everyone.”

 **[Insert Name unnie | 12:20]** _I’ll go to that studio on one condition_  
**[Insert Name unnie | 12:21]** _If I get to meet this Sharon person who apparently owns it?_

“Who the hell are you texting?”

Momo snaps her gaze to her friends and makes a half-baked attempt to answer Sana’s question. “Um... my... sister.”

“Seriously. Do you even try to be convincing when you lie?” Jeongyeon asks, joining Sana to form a coordinated expression of disapproval. “Hey, did you have a chance to do anything against the Myoui girl today?”

This will be a difficult topic to lie about, she knows. A partial-truth is her best chance to pass muster under their interrogating gaze.

“No… maybe tomorrow...?”

Thankfully, the response raises no red flags and is deemed satisfactory, because Sana and Jeongyeon draw back to their scheme with boundless enthusiasm, the latter snorting, “we’re going to _end_ them.”

“ _Destroy_ them.”

“They won’t know what hit them.”

Inside her hand, Momo’s phone brightens again and she chances a quick look.

 **[Mina Something-Something | 12:24]** _Deal :)_

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. What's the shortest time it's ever taken you to fall in love with someone?
> 
> P.P.S. Ask me which Twice-specific fanfiction trope is my favorite, and I'll tell you it's Momo working in the food services industry
> 
> P.P.P.S. What can I say--my head canon Momo likes counting things


	3. Bats and soy sauce

**THE PRESENT**

Nayeon is usually the last to join the group video-chat, as timeliness for her is, at best, an afterthought, at worst something she deliberately disregards (often excused with a dismissive “time is an illusion, guys!”), but today it’s Sana and Jihyo’s turn to cause a delay, which is doubly-entertaining because Jihyo is notoriously punctual. 

“Let me just preface this by saying that us being late is Sana’s fault—” an aggravated Jihyo discloses as soon as she and Sana pop into view while making their way through what appears to be a hotel lobby. 

“That was not my fault; I wasn’t the one who picked the wrong taxi and by the way, try reading Greek inside _a moving vehicle_ —”

Their bickering sparks some laughs among the girls, and Mina stirs her noodles amusedly as her eyes dart to the location tag on the corners of each of her friend’s portion of the screen: Nayeon is inside her trailer, on set in Vancouver, Jeongyeon and Tzuyu are attending a biochemistry and nuclear physics conference overseas and appear to be in their hotel room in Zurich, Sana and Jihyo have just concluded their participation in a “women in politics” symposium in Athens, and Dahyun is fidgeting with headphones and her phone as she walks out of a recording studio in Seoul beside Chaeyoung, who’s edging in and out of view.

That they’ve managed to keep this tradition for so long astounds Mina sometimes; that all 8 of them have distinct careers, lifestyles, and schedules, and yet this is something they do without fail, this group video-chat session every Wednesday at 11am, Seoul time. It’s meant that on more than one occasion, a few of them have had to join a call at 3 in the morning from some international location, groggy and sometimes falling back asleep mid-conversation. Yet, it’s been four years since their first session and all 8 have managed to make it each time.

Momo, of course, is the notable absence. But for years now there’s been an unspoken, carefully-balanced arrangement her friends have maintained, in which both Mina and Momo regularly engage in activities within the group, without ever crossing paths or really having to acknowledge the other’s existence.

In some instances, it’s been conveniently easy, as though arranged by fate—like when all friends banded together to volunteer in Sana’s first stint as junior campaign manager for a mayoral candidate in Japan, and then Mina was advised by the campaign director not to make any appearances or donations, as his candidate’s platform hinged almost entirely on his perceived independence from corporate influence, and any association with Myoui Industries would damage the candidate’s standing with potential voters. Thus, Mina stayed away. And it was Momo who attended the inauguration.

When Nayeon had her first international movie premiere in New York, Momo was newly-hired and unable to request any time off; she stayed in Korea and Mina flew everyone else over.

When Jeongyeon and Tzuyu received academic honors in Berlin as part of their lab team’s breakthrough research on biochemical energy, Mina was under intense surveillance following a death threat and therefore forbidden by her security team from leaving the country. Momo attended that one.

Even in the realm of social media, their friends devised a tagging system with a corresponding filter in Mina and Momo’s phones that ensured neither of them accidentally came across photos of one another.

In many ways, Mina and Momo might as well have existed in entirely different planets; that was the universe’s arrangement for the past 5 years.

Until last week, that is.

Nayeon is reliably blunt when she begins, “okay, before anyone hogs up our time talking about what a molecule is or whatever—”

Jeongyeon snorts an interruption, and Mina joins everyone else in laughter; “you are literally getting married to a scientist; how can you not know already what a molecule is—”

“Obviously I’m marrying you for your looks, not your brains or personality,” Nayeon rebuts easily, and Mina has to shake her head with fond disapproval.

“Speaking of looks, brains, and personality,” Sana interjects, sounding equal parts surprised and appalled, “Mina, what the hell is going on with you getting _professional help_ to find someone to date?” 

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me—I thought that was a joke when I heard it,” Jihyo concurs, almost as aghast. “You’re quiet and all, but really?”

Of course this was going to be a topic of interest this week.

“It wasn’t really my idea,” Mina replies, allowing a sullen edge into her tone. “That was all my parents. They enrolled me without even telling me until it was already time to show up to the first appointment.”

Mina wonders how many seconds or—if she’s lucky—minutes will elapse before someone mentions the inevitable. As it turns out, she doesn’t have to wait long.

Jihyo’s comment begins carefree and humored—"well, if Mina ends up with a girlfriend or a boyfriend, the only single people in our group will be Chae and Momo…”—before she trails off and the unpleasant weight of silence extinguishes her sentence, because there it is; there’s the name everyone avoids around Mina, the name that eats up all her courage from the inside and right now has her swallowing down the impulse to hang up and hide out somewhere in the world where no one will know her. 

“So, how has it been… with Momo…” Tzuyu, out of all of them, has always been the one to ask the questions no one else wants to ask, even more so when rescuing her girlfriend from an awkward slip.

“It’s fine,” Mina replies stiffly. She should have had the foresight to rehearse her answer to this question. “We’re civil. It’s been normal, all things considered.”

“All things considered?” Dahyun presses quietly, while everyone’s gazes shift all about the screen as though this conversation were actually taking place in person, and everyone is exchanging looks of obvious discomfort.

“Considering how bad the break-up was and how long it’s been,” Mina clarifies, feeling a little bit like she’s lifted the gauze off a not-quite-healed burned patch of skin.

“When’s the last time you guys talked, like an actual talk? Before last week, I mean.”

Outwardly, Mina stares at her screen; inwardly she focuses on a blurry spot of the display, and isn’t completely sure who posed that last question. The wind blows on that exposed burn and seems to sear it a little more.

“When we broke up, I think.”

It’s hard to believe it’s been that long, now that she’s allowing herself to acknowledge the length of time that widened so considerably the distance between them. There was a period of her life during which Momo was something she had woven into the core of her being; her first thought in the morning and the last at night, a constant and pleasant buzz that permeated every other thought she had throughout the day. It would have been unfathomable, back then, to exist in a time and place and lifetime in which they wouldn’t be together. It would have been unfathomable, back then, to make it five days without speaking to Momo, let alone five years.

Even now, she doesn’t actually know how she made it. And it feels unfathomable to do it again.

“But it’s been okay talking to her… we’re getting along, I think.”

“You know,” a grumpy Sana grumbles to pierce the stillness, “Momo’s confidentiality clause thing means she can’t even confirm you’re her client.” She sounds legitimately bummed about this and it’s amusing enough to momentarily tuck away Mina’s still-open wounds. “So I can’t even ask her anything. It’s no fun.” 

“Guys, maybe Mina does actually need help,” Chaeyoung posits thoughtfully, and now Mina notices that she and Dahyun have sat down in a restaurant and are halfway through a shared sushi roll. “Besides Momo, her taste in people to date has been pretty terrible.”

“Hey! Watch it,” Nayeon objects immediately, and another round of laughter erupts. 

“Fine—besides Momo and Nayeon,” Chaeyoung corrects with a snicker, sounding very much like she does _not_ mean her correction.

“Really, though—let’s go down the list,” Tzuyu prompts in tacit agreement, and just as Mina is groaning, “please, let’s not,” the girl is already amending, “first, there was that race car driver in college—”

“Horrible. That was traumatizing—” Sana shudders, and Dahyun comments with a laugh, “you weren’t even the one dating him.”

“Secondhand suffering exists, babe,” Sana explains simply, and Mina rolls her eyes, choosing to turn back to her noodles with an unamused sigh.

“Oh, and then that actor Nabongs set her up with,” Jeongyeon jumps in, already chortling, “I mean, really—your first mistake was trusting _Nayeon_ to pick a guy for you—”

Nayeon scoffs loudly, and Mina has to laugh at that, too.

A strange, almost unrecognizable rush of courage makes Mina ask quietly, “do you guys do this with Momo, too? The video-chat session?”

Immediately, she can tell the question has taken everyone off-guard; Mina takes this as a confirmation even before Chaeyoung blurts out clumsily, “yeah, we call her after we hang up with you.”

This should probably surprise her, but it truly doesn’t. And maybe it’s her lack of reaction that emboldens Jeongyeon to reach out and tap something on screen. 

Another square pops into the screen and Mina barely contains a panicked gasp when she realizes Jeongyeon just called Momo.

“You both said you’re getting along, so I guess it’s time to test that out,” Jeongyeon grins as a way of explanation, and Mina has no time to gauge everyone else’s reaction to the sudden development—Momo’s smile brightens her corner of the screen as she accepts the call and greets amiably, “hey, guys; you’re early.” Mina’s entire lunch churns over in her stomach when Momo’s eyes are seized by a spot somewhere on her own screen and she blanches with visible horror. “ _OhmyGod_ … you guys… forgot to hang up… with...”

“You know she can hear you, right?” Nayeon states drily, and Mina realizes belatedly that she and Momo are the only ones registering anything other than thrilled fascination to what is unfolding before them—there are seven wide-eyed, grinning girls in this group-chat split screen, and two who appear to be witnessing their own deaths. The first session of the consultancy occurred a day ago, and Mina battles a distressing uncertainty that she hasn’t had time to recover from it, that she perhaps will _never_ recover, and will always be halfway through a hopeless effort to reorganize the different parts of herself that Momo shuffled when they stepped into each other's lives again. “She’s literally in the same call with us, so you might as well just say hi to each other.”

“Right. Yeah, of course.” A tentative Momo appears to have sat down, eye-level with her camera now and studying the screen, fidgeting and nervous and reluctant. She appears to freeze for a moment—something discreet that may not actually have happened. Then, Mina’s focus strays elsewhere, because there’s something else she isn’t sure of: whether she can keep herself in this call. Some part of her is horribly afraid that Momo won’t want to speak to her unless in necessity of her job, that Momo still hates her and won’t want anything to do with her, and maybe if she doesn’t see Momo’s imminent rejection, it’ll hurt less. 

But no such thing takes place; Momo does speak to her. “Hey… good morning, Mina.”

Has Momo called her by her first name yet? The sound feels foreign to her mind and body; she can’t quite recall—

And then it jars her suddenly. It splashes like ink onto the canvas of her sight, devastatingly clear; the memory of the last time she spoke to Momo in a similar setup. It was a FaceTime call, connecting two opposite ends of the world, dialed two days before their break-up. Mina forgot the time difference and accidentally woke Momo in the early hours of the morning, and then told her, sheepishly, that she missed her. And Momo, perfect and beautiful and sleepy, rubbed her eyes through the dim haze of drowsiness and smiled at Mina and told her in sleep-softened voice, _“then come back to me; I’m waiting for you.”_

Momo did wait. But in a way, Mina didn’t really come back.

Oh my God. Is that what Momo was remembering?

The old, familiar pain shifts inside her chest and she waits for it to subside and fade away but it takes so much longer nowadays. Stubbornly, she wills her voice to be steadier and surer than she is. “Good morning, Momo.”

Instantly, there's an outburst of cheers and high-fives and joyous shrieks of commemoration, and Mina actually slinks back in her chair and blinks at her screen in unhidden alarm—Momo's eyes are wide with matching levels of surprise, at least.

“We’ve been waiting _so long_ for you guys to finally stop acting like the other one doesn’t exist!” Chaeyoung declares excitedly, practically hugging the phone she’s sharing with Dahyun.

“Gosh, what a time to be alive—I really was starting to lose hope.” It's Sana's turn to reinforce everyone's sentiment, voice wavering and genuinely sniffling back her emotions, a simultaneously amusing and saddening sight.

“Seriously—we need to celebrate this,” Tzuyu agrees heartily.

Nayeon jumps back in with a disproportionately pleased smirk. “And really, this is happening just in time because as you know, Jeong’s and mine engagement party—”

And she makes it halfway through her sentence before she’s being readily interrupted by everyone else in the video-chat—including Mina, who’s also heard this same reminder about a hundred thousand times.

“—is next week—yes, we know,” every girl groans in unison, a perfect mix of bored and annoyed. 

“Stop, please; you’re overwhelming me with your enthusiasm,” Nayeon huffs dryly. 

“I’d like to apologize on behalf of my fiancée for her making this be about our engagement party and not our friendship group finally being restored,” Jeongyeon remarks disapprovingly, while Nayeon is blowing her a kiss.

There’s a collective laugh from everyone, and Mina finds herself glancing over at Momo’s portion of the screen—the background is white and tiled, with wooden cabinets peeking from behind the girl’s figure. Momo is in a kitchen, Mina guesses, and perhaps this is the kitchen of her own house. She’d have no way of knowing for sure; she has no idea where Momo lives. Or anything else about her life, actually. After they broke up, Mina had a very real concern for her own welfare: the heartbreak was consuming her, filling her up and spilling out of her onto everything and everyone she touched, and there didn’t seem to be a way to emerge from the suffocating fog unless she made a conscious effort to unlearn and unknow Momo. She spent five years immersed in the effort, and now here they are. It’s an odd thought.

“Your office looks different.”

Mina recognizes Momo’s voice but doesn’t register the actual words and their meaning until it dawns on her that she’s the only one in an office. That comment was meant for her.

“That whole building is her office, Momo,” Tzuyu responds with a chuckle shared by the other girls, a reminder that Mina’s never actually invited any of her friends to her workplace, figuring it too sterile and unpleasant, but now Momo has been here and... that’s also an odd thought.

“No, I mean…” Momo leans in closer to the camera, apparently studying Mina’s corner of her own screen. The action sends a fresh wave of panic to kick Mina’s heart into her throat; Momo has always been spectacularly attractive and it’s almost unbearable looking at her. “Like, her official one looks different from that.”

She struggles not to react to this, not to place undue weight on the fact that Momo remembers her office well enough to know she isn’t currently in it.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Mina scrambles, darting a quick glance of appraisal around her. “I’m three stories below my office, in one of the conference rooms.” A small uptick of courage in her bloodstream enables her to add without betraying too much of her unease, “you know how we were looking out of the ‘O’ that day you were here? If you were to look at this office from outside the building, I’m right behind the ‘R.’”

It’s hard to tear her attention away from Momo’s smile as she nods her comprehension, but Mina does so anyway, when Dahyun and Chaeyoung turn to point somewhere off-camera and wave in sync.

“You can’t see it, but we just waved at you, Mina,” Dahyun reveals with a goofy laugh that tugs a grin from the corners of Mina’s mouth.

Mina notices Momo and Sana both bringing a chopsticks-full portion of their respective meals to their mouths and instinctively mirrors the movement with her own bowl of instant noodles.

“Whatever Sana is eating looks good,” Jeongyeon remarks, and not a second after, Chaeyoung complements laughingly, “whatever Mina is eating does _not_. What _is_ that?”

Timidly, Mina angles her tablet lower and the moment the camera captures her meal, her friends appear to have wordlessly coordinated a collective guttural sound of revulsion.

“That looks _disgusting_.”

“I've seen lab waste look more appetizing.”

“Myoui Mina, you could buy a country and you're eating 3-minute noodles?!”

“And it’s the cheap brand, too!”

Even while she laughs with embarrassment and endures an entire round of good-humored taunting (explaining that “I got it from one of the programmers downstairs” absolutely does not deter them), Mina eyes Momo’s corner of her screen; re-engraves in her memory the bright, thoroughly amused laugh that’s merged seamlessly with the choir of seven other girls. 

She’s spent the entirety of the past five years missing Momo quietly and constantly, like breathing. There was also something else, however, just as important, whose loss in her life she hadn’t appreciated until now. 

There were once 9 of them, and the memories, the moments, the sensations, they all seep back into her mind now—the initial distrust and overt antagonism between the JYP and SM factions, yes, but also Mina’s first midnight conversation with Dahyun, Jihyo and Chaeyoung’s book club, Sana, Momo, and Nayeon’s k-drama marathons, Jeongyeon and Tzuyu’s road trip to a science competition in Busan, the squad’s evolution into TWICE, and, of course, Mina and Momo’s love story unfolding boundless and inescapable. 

There were once 9 of them. And then, for a miserable span of time, there were 4 and 5, or 3 and 6, or 1 and 8. Today feels like mending back together something that had seemed irreparably fractured. 

“At least add an egg or something to that, Mina!”

“She’ll look up the ideal egg for noodles and then weigh all the eggs in the building to find the right one to cook—don’t encourage her.” It’s Momo this time, joining in the light-hearted mocking.

“Don’t even start with that, Momo,” Nayeon objects mildly as laughter continues to reverberate through the video-chat audio; “you always ate whatever Mina cooked for you and even _helped her_ weigh the ingredients.”

Mina grins at the [partitioned screen](https://78.media.tumblr.com/275584f72682dca6d001c084bb8ab8e5/tumblr_pdnbqqUowD1vymbnlo1_400.png) again, trying and failing to seem affronted by their humored jabs, and swallows down a lump of emotion. She had missed this so much. The Momo-shaped wound marring her heart bleeds unrelentingly but this wound, carved into her by the incompleteness of their group’s friendship, this wound that she hadn’t even known existed, this wound is healed.

 

-

 

**THE PAST**

Judging by her own friends’ reactions to the arrival of the SM students, Momo had already anticipated that the JYP student body wouldn’t exactly be a shining example of hospitality to the newcomers. But even she couldn’t have predicted the tension-filled apocalyptic zone into which the campus descended during the first week of their arrival. A mere two days after the new students’ absorption into JYP, the murmured insults and open exchanges of hostile glares are so rampant in the hallways that every student seems to harbor the worry, if not outright certainty, that the school is one unsubtle eye-roll away from a campus-wide fight. It’s on Monday that the proverbial shit hits the proverbial fan, but it all begins the week before, the day after the SM student orientation; the start of it, really, is on Thursday.

-

**Thursday**

The morning begins with a thick stack of notebook-bound papers collapsing down onto their table with a loud slap, a minute after Momo and Sana have taken their seats to await Jeongyeon prior to their respective first period classes. When a mildly startled Momo glances up, she finds Park Jihyo casting an unsympathetic glower in their direction.

“Here you go, Minatozaki. Your building inspection report.”

Sana lifts an eyebrow in surprise but recovers fairly quickly; “how nice of you to type this up, Park. I hope the inspection was fun?” Her transparently-fake saccharine tone provokes Park sufficiently that she narrows her eyes with apparent irritation.

“Yes. Quite fun,” Park replies flatly. There’s a sudden, worrisome glint in her features. “I hope you have an equal amount of fun reading the report, of course.”

Park doesn’t give Sana time to respond before she’s swiftly turning on her heel and stalking away. And then Sana flips open the notebook and proceeds to let out a deeply aggravated groan unlike any Momo’s heard from her.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sana proceeds to skim a few more pages and then curses under her breath. “She did an _actual_ inspection. And submitted it to the district administration already.” Momo’s quick peek into what she can see of the report doesn’t reveal enough for her to figure out what is so terrible about it, but Sana is tipped further into horror as she begins to read excerpts from the report; “apparently our handicap signs in the parking lot are _2 inches lower_ than they’re supposed to be, per the county code. Park actually took out a _ruler_ and _measured it_. Does she not know we don’t do actual inspections and this is just a formality? That's why they're boring! _Oh, great_ —she also inspected our bathroom stalls and found three that don’t close properly—what the hell is this…” She scoffs with disbelief, turns another page, and then almost shrieks. “Momo, _what the fuck!_ ‘The doorway located in the auditorium’s eastern exit exhibits signs of rust and disuse,’” Sana reads, pale and aghast, while Momo stares at her blankly, with no inkling of whether Sana’s behavior should be interpreted to mean the world is ending, “‘which indicate a potential risk to its structural integrity, in such degree to warrant a formal inquiry into the building’s closure’— _what is this_?!”

Momo has been watching her friend’s outburst with alarm, unsure of what the appropriate reaction would be to the apparent catastrophe taking place in front of her, and wondering whether this is one of those incidents that have major significance to the student council and to absolutely no one else (like that time Sana aged ten years due to stress because the council lost the list of donors for a philanthropic event they were hosting). The bell signals the commencement of first period and Sana throws Momo an infuriated scowl (“where is Jeong?!”) as they part ways.

Half an hour into their respective first classes, Momo peeks down at her phone’s brightening screen, intending on texting Mina to confirm their meet-up at her studio this afternoon, and noticing instead multiple messages in the main group text she has with her friends, ‘JeongMoSaDaChae.’

 **[Sanake | 8:02]** Has anyone seen Jeong?  
**[Dubu | 8:02]** I think she was late, I didn’t see her  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:03]** LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE MORNING I’VE HAD  
**[ChaeChaeChae | 8:03]** Ooh all caps? This is going to be good

Momo raises an eyebrow instinctively but rapidly tucks her phone away when she remembers that her statistics professor is one of the less forgiving of the faculty in matters of clandestine texting.

She waits impatiently until the end of first period, then rushes to her next class, planning to utilize the first few minutes of inactivity to catch up on the group text. Sana is in this class as well but is making her way from the opposite side of the campus, so Momo is expecting a delay.

 **[JeongTheAmazing | 8:05]** First, I woke up and got ready for school and then tried to get out of my front door and couldn’t  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:05]** Turns out MY FRONT DOOR WAS BOLTED SHUT FROM THE OUTSIDE  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:06]** Then, I went out through the back door and found out that my ENTIRE HOUSE WAS EGGED

Momo almost drops her phone in shock.

 **[JeongTheAmazing | 8:07]** I’m so glad my parents are out of town and I have time to clean it up because otherwise I’d be grounded FOR A DECADE

The first wave of students enters the class and begins to fill the desks but Momo’s eyes are wide and fixed on her phone screen.

 **[JeongTheAmazing | 8:07]** So I came running to school and got here all sweaty so I decided to change my uniform  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:07]** I went to the locker room and found out someone broke into it and SHREDDED MY UNIFORMS INTO LITTLE STRIPS

This time, Momo gasps; from the edge of her hearing she picks up a similar sound and glances up to find an aghast Sana covering her mouth with a hand while holding up her phone with the other. Their eyes lock across the classroom and immediately Sana makes her way to the desk next to Momo.

 **[JeongTheAmazing | 8:08]** I keep a spare uniform in my book locker, though, so I went there and turns out someone covered the door in super glue SO IT DOESN’T OPEN AND I HAVE NO WAY OF GETTING MY BOOKS OR MY UNIFORM !!!!!!!  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:08]** oh and before I forget, Sana can I have the map of the school bathrooms please

Impulsively, Momo types off a quick reply before the professor begins the lecture. 

**[DanceMochine | 8:09]** Where are you now?  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:09]** In detention (snuck in my phone)  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:09]** Because I got here late as I said  
**[Sanake | 8:10]** Why did you run here instead of driving your car?  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:11]** Oh, I forgot to mention  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:11]** MY CAR HAS NO TIRES  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:11]** SOMEONE STOLE MY CAR TIRES  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:11]** and every time I’ve typed *someone* in this text convo I was referring to LUCIFER, AKA IM NAYEON

Crap. The operation is backfiring _spectacularly_. When Momo peers up from her phone to Sana’s scandalized, slack-mouthed expression, she can’t help but notice the peculiar set-up of their classroom: the aggregated students are separated into two groups, neatly dividing the class into halves; one a mass of white and grey JYP uniforms, the other a sea of navy blue SM suits, with decidedly no overlap.

 **[Dubu | 8:12]** That’s the girl you guys are having the war with right?  
**[Sanake | 8:12]** One of them yes  
**[DanceMochine | 8:13]** I don’t know how classes for juniors are looking but the seniors are definitely not getting along  
**[DanceMochine | 8:13]** Everyone is sitting separately and no one is talking to each other  
**[ChaeChaeChae | 8:14]** Yeah things aren’t going well with the juniors either  
**[Dubu | 8:14]** Oh, my professor for first period biology decided to mix the jyp and sm students so I got a new lab partner, her name is Myoui Mina

At the mention of Mina’s name, Momo tenses slightly in her seat with the possibility that her friends will notice that Momo has not sabotaged Mina in any way. Then, a stronger, sudden fear grips her, that someone—anyone—will do something to make things difficult for Mina, and Im Nayeon’s intimidation tactics won’t be sufficiently dissuading. 

**[Dubu | 8:14]** She had joined the gaming club yesterday so we were talking about games  
**[Dubu | 8:14]** She has resting bitch face and is really quiet but once I talked to her she was nice  
**[Sanake | 8:14]** Stop saying good things about the enemy! She’s one of the girls we’re trying to take down  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:15]** We are still on track to take down all 3, Myoui included

Mind racing with potential solutions to this problem, Momo decides a temporary distraction from the Mina subject is the best she can do at the moment.

 **[DanceMochine | 8:16]** Jeong, when are you getting out of detention? We need to have a meeting  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:17]** Are you finally scheduling try-outs for my replacement?  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:17]** My internship starts in a week and you don’t even have a short list

Momo’s plan involved debating musical track options for their next season, but this is even better—Jeongyeon is actively invested in her replacement after obtaining a spot in a highly sought-after internship and concluding she’d have no spare time to carry on her co-captain duties, so the topic is urgent enough that Mina is unlikely to come up again.

 **[DanceMochine | 8:18]** Yeah I’m working on that  
**[DanceMochine | 8:18]** Let’s meet today and pick your replacement tomorrow

As an extra step of precaution, Momo references another matter of interest.

 **[DanceMochine | 8:18]** And maybe we can talk about our uniforms for next season too

A nervous agitation surges through Momo as she waits. Please, she prays inwardly, please forget about Mina. Please talk about something else. 

**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:19]** Oh yeah forgot about that  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:19]** Okay sounds good  
**[Sanake | 8:20]** Ugh please don’t go back to that ugly mustard color you guys had last year  
**[Dubu | 8:20]** You said you liked those uniforms  
**[Sanake | 8:20]** only on you of course  
**[ChaeChaeChae | 8:21]** *gags*  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 8:21]** *vomits*

Momo almost exhales audibly, such is the degree of her relief. She has no long-term plan to address this problem, but hopes that at least for now, Mina will be off her friends’ radars.

-

This being the first day the JYP and SM students are attending classes together, it takes the school faculty a couple of periods to notice the deep, hostile division occurring between the two student factions in every single class. By fifth period, which takes place after lunch, Momo has overheard the hush and buzz of gossip around the campus that all professors, out of sheer frustration, have decided to take drastic measures to bridge the chasm between the JYP and SM students. 

When Momo enters her fifth period Chemistry classroom, she notices immediately that Im Nayeon, of all people, is in this class with her, and shoots Sana an uneasy glance. Momo is naturally optimistic, but there seems to be some force of the universe cautioning her that a horrible event is about to take place.

And indeed, it does. It occurs in the last two minutes of class, when the professor announces that he will alphabetically sort all the students (JYP and SM alike) into pairs for next semester’s lab project. 

Momo immediately prays, with feverish intent, that if the sorting is in accordance to first names, that there is someone in this class with a first name between ‘Momo’ and ‘Nayeon,’ and that if the sorting is by last names, that there is at least one last name landing between ‘Hirai’ and ‘Im’ on the professor’s call sheet.

As it turns out, there isn’t.

Thus, Momo hears, “Hirai Momo, your partner will be...” followed by a small pause, and then, “Im Nayeon.” Which, in turn, is followed by an expletive mumbled under breath by a voice she knows well by now and wishes she didn’t: Im herself, cursing her luck.

-

Of all things Momo had heard over the years about Sharon’s Studio, the common thread always seemed to be that the place itself appeared to have been built to intimidate, rather than welcome. It’s early afternoon and within her first few steps into the enormous multi-level structure, Momo tracks the unsubtle signs of luxury—the obvious expense of the wooden floors, the high ceilings and art installations adorning the hallway walls—and agrees with that review completely.

Gingerly, she follows a general map and directory posted in one of the main hallways to find her way to the practice room Mina reserved for them. When she does find it, guided now primarily by a faint hum of music leading her steps, she halts by the doorway, breath caught in her throat by the dream-like sight that welcomes her as she quietly pushes the door open. Mina is apparently halfway through an easy-paced warm-up of a ballet-influenced routine that is all clean, graceful lines, sweeping motions and extensions interspersed with formal and precise leaps. It reminds Momo that she’s never actually seen, in person, someone dance like this. She’s watched short excerpts of YouTube videos of classically-trained dancers and a documentary profiling a famous ballerina, and she has a general knowledge of what the style looks like, from studying every type of dance in order to inform her own technique and preferences. But she’s never seen an actual ballerina, until now. Her eyes track the lithe quality of her movements, somehow both sharp and fluid, and detect a more modern and spontaneous influence seeping into her style. This is ballet framed in part by something Mina’s taken and molded entirely for herself, and that makes Momo smile, primarily because as a fellow dancer, she knows when someone genuinely loves and enjoys dancing, and also because she’s imagining now what a cheerleading routine choreographed by this girl must look like.

Whatever way Mina has carved her own dancing style, Momo knows she could watch it over and over again and not tire of it.

And God, this is such a bad sign already, broadcast by an even worse idea; Momo can almost _see_ the depth of trouble she’s stepping into. She can assess the different scattered pieces of it, and in a single tick of time, she scrutinizes each of them, and whether she should walk away.

(1) There’s an attraction there already. (2) There are common interests. (3) There are the bare-beginnings of a friendship. (4) There’s… something else, too, that she can’t name, but that she could ignore, that she can keep herself from feeling, as long as she doesn’t know too much of Mina. 

She could walk away now. She could. She _should_. She truly has no idea why she doesn’t. 

“Oh, hey, Momo.”

At the sound of Mina’s breathless greeting, Momo snaps out of her dazed reverie and almost trips back into the hallway in surprise and embarrassment. 

“Hi.” The rest of her sentence evaporates inside her throat when Mina takes the first step toward her, beckoning her in, brightening into a smile that draws Momo in like sunlight after a cold night. It’s hard and maybe largely pointless to keep reminding herself of this, but she does anyway—don’t feel like this, Momo, come on. “Are you Sharon, the owner of this place?” Momo jokes, part out of humored impulse and part as a self-preservation reflex, to seem calmer than she is. Mina laughs and gives her a small eye-roll, and Momo amends, recalling their first real introduction, “you look familiar.”

“Really? You’re using my own line on me?” Mina asks lightly, crossing her arms amusedly. 

Momo has never seen Mina wearing anything other than SM’s uniform, either. She is 100% more approachable in her current attire: comfortable leggings and a loose t-shirt—almost exactly what Momo herself is wearing. “It’s a good line.” After taking a few steps of her own towards the centermost area of the room, Momo fidgets with the drawstrings of the bag slung around her shoulders and comments apologetically, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your practice. It looked really, really good.”

“Oh, no; it’s okay. I was just doing a warm-up.” She smiles as she extends Momo a phone from which Momo understands she’s meant to pick a song. The phone’s [background screen](https://78.media.tumblr.com/40d7f8a4ef5cbe8d030ed3a359e82566/tumblr_pdnbqqUowD1vymbnlo3_540.jpg) is a composite image of two pictures—one of Mina with Im Nayeon and one with Park Jihyo and Chou Tzuyu—and Momo, a bit taken aback, flashbacks to that first meeting initiating Operation Snob Sabotage. Her own phone displays [a picture](https://78.media.tumblr.com/4b8fff4d51748812cb840298c0ea31f7/tumblr_pdnbqqUowD1vymbnlo2_400.jpg) of her friends too. Mina’s group of friends is likely as close as her own; perhaps engage in the same activities, have fun in similar ways, rely on one another for support in the same manner Momo and her own friends do. It’s more than a little unsettling. “I’ve been curious, actually, to see you dance,” Mina tells with enthusiasm, thankfully pulling Momo away from her uncomfortable train of thought. “You have quite a reputation and someone showed me a short video of you.”

Momo freezes immediately, gaze darting to Mina but carried by a wince. There are many, many videos of her dancing that have been disseminated around the school, and it’s not that she’s ever danced badly, but… there are some videos she’d never show anyone if she were intending to make a good first impression.

“Which one was it?” Momo asks in a low, nervous mumble. “If it’s the one where I’m wearing a chicken costume and dancing in the middle of the parking lot, I only did that because I lost a bet.”

And then she watches Mina burst into a delighted laugh and feels her stomach promptly flip over. 

“That was definitely not the video I saw, which is a shame,” Mina teases gently. “No, the one I saw had you warming up in a studio.”

Relieved, Momo turns back to the phone and searches through the music list for the last track the cheer squad used for a routine. She’s distracted and hasn’t quite considered what she’s about to disclose when she responds, “oh, yeah; my sister is an instructor at a studio in Osaka and sometimes I choreograph for the dance team there.”

“You choreograph for a dance team, too?” Mina is clearly intrigued and Momo blushes a bit, regretting now that she revealed something that’s probably raised the girl’s expectations to a point Momo might not be able to meet. “Would you show me something you’ve choreographed for them?”

Even though dancing is where Momo is most comfortable and self-assured, a swirl of unease spreads through her nonetheless; there’s now a dumb and persistent voice nudging her to impress Mina and Momo’s best efforts to swat it away are wholly ineffective.

“Um... sure...” A couple of taps against the phone screen have her selecting the correct song, and Momo positions herself and tries very, very hard not to look at Mina and to pretend instead that the girl is somewhere on the opposite end of the Earth, that this is an empty room, and Momo is practicing a routine for no audience but her own reflection.

She waits for the first note, for when it spills out of the speakers and reaches her body. And then it’s easy. Because all through her life, it’s been dancing that formed her happiness and optimism and rewarded her hard work and steadfast dedication with the pride that comes with being truly good at something. It’s been the beat and rhythm of music that’s shaped the strands of her muscles, coursing through her and within her like her own blood. It’s because dancing is something she planted her dreams and promises into, something she’s wrapped around everything she loves and fears. It’s dancing that’s stretched out her heart and made it open and hopeful when the world wanted to make it heavy with other things. Mostly it’s because Momo likes who she is when she’s dancing, in a way that’s true and complete and that she can’t find in any other area of her life.

Momo stops a minute before the fast-paced routine would have ended, slightly winded from the exertion of an objectively strenuous exercise, mind still following the thrum of the song but deeming this partial demonstration sufficient for now. Her eyes find Mina sitting exactly where they had pretended she wasn’t; they find a girl watching her in silence, and with clear, unmistakable awe.

“That’s, um, the last choreo I did.”

“Oh my God,” a wide-eyed Mina breathes out in response after a couple of nerve-wrecking seconds, wonder-filled expression being replaced by a wide, brilliant beam. “You’re _so good_.” She stands to approach Momo just as Momo herself is distracted by the effort to contain the blush creeping into her cheeks. “How long have you been dancing?”

It was already hard to look directly at Mina without having to take in the sort of open admiration that always catches Momo off-guard, especially when received from a fellow dancer, especially when the fellow dancer looks like Myoui Mina. 

Momo clears her throat. “Almost my whole life.”

“It definitely shows,” she’s still beaming as she states firmly, still tipping Momo off-balance and blurring the world around them. “I honestly think you’re the best dancer I’ve ever seen.”

Momo feels a little helpless. She’s so outmatched here against Mina’s earnest praise; this isn’t even fair; she’s not sure she ever had a chance.

“You’re really good, too; you were just warming up and it still looked amazing,” an agitated Momo lauds in return, meaning every word and yet hoping to divert the conversation to something else. She should be better at receiving compliments by now but despite her best efforts, she’s always been awful at it. “And I meant to say before, that from what I’ve seen of this studio so far, it’s really nice—thank you for inviting me.”

Mina gives her a knowing look, likely noticing her purposeful diversion from the previous topic, and Momo blushes again.

“Did you have a chance to see the afternoon classes?” Mina queries; when Momo shakes her head, she explains, “right now there are a bunch of classes going on, of different dancing styles—jazz, waltz, ballet, hip-hop… I can give you a tour if you’d like, and we could watch some of them.”

An amused thought bursts inside her mind and tugs the corner of Momo’s mouth. “So now _you’ll_ be the one giving me a tour.”

Mina laughs at this, and Momo doesn’t want to enjoy the sound so much, but it’s an involuntary action at this point. “You know, I actually can’t find my way around JYP. I got lost today.” Momo frowns, and it seems to tickle Mina further. “I talked to another SM student about our orientation and apparently the tour you gave me only covered like 20% of the campus.”

Momo gasps dramatically, feigning indignation. “Are you really talking crap about my amazing insider’s tour of the school?” Now barely managing it through her laughter, Mina nods her confirmation and Momo lets her jaw drop in exaggerated shock. “I’m insulted; I bet you no one else got to try the famous JYP ice cream—”

“The ambiguously-flavored ice cream, you mean,” Mina retorts cheekily; Momo pretends she didn’t hear it.

“—or got to see where you can cut class. My tour was much better than everyone else’s.”

A heartbeat, and then another, separate the seconds. Mina is grinning at her, steadily, warmly—the shape of her smile is different here, and Momo wants to understand what this means—and then she gestures to the doorway. “Let me show you around. I think you’re in luck today; I might be able to get us ice cream.”

-

They pass by the jazz classroom first, posting themselves in the hallway just outside of it, in front of a glass-panel wall through which they watch the dozen students inside. There’s some pleasant ambient music subtly filling the space around them as well, and maybe—Momo will try to pin it down later, the exact moment in time—that’s how it begins.

Maybe it begins when Momo comments idly that this is what she likes about choreographing routines—the liberty to take inspiration from any style—and then accidentally brushes her shoulder against Mina’s, and, for a panicked second, recalls Im Nayeon’s cautionary words just before the JYP campus tour. Momo blurts out, “do you really have a security sensor?” and Mina hesitates before nodding and revealing that members of her family have been recipients of the occasional murder threat and kidnapping plot, and that bodyguards were quite ubiquitous in the SM campus. 

“Jihyo, for an example, has a security team, too. Her father is the vice-president. There were some other heirs and heiresses that have them, too.”

And after Momo can’t help commenting lowly that it sounds strange, always being tailed and having to be mindful of safety threats, Mina quietens and returns Momo’s gaze wistfully. “I don’t really know life any other way.” And maybe it’s when Momo is processing the words in her mind and recognizing the bare honesty of them, that it begins.

Maybe, however, it begins after Mina asks—a soft, curious voice in an empty hallway—how Momo got into cheerleading, and Momo lets the warmth of her oldest memories form her words for her without any reserve, to reminisce with fondness about a childhood of accompanying her sister to dance practice, and attending games with her father to cheer him on, and how that placed her on the path to be cheerleader. 

It slips out of her—with none of the hesitation from what should have been her usual self-preservation instinct—that she’s often insecure outside of dance, unsure of who she is and what she can offer the world when she isn’t dancing. It slips out that sometimes she second-guesses herself as captain because Jeongyeon has a stronger personality and is more responsible, and Momo just dances well and loves the squad members so much, but she doesn’t think she can do what Jeongyeon does. There’s a renewed anxiety injected in her every day, that Jeongyeon is leaving her co-captainship position to pursue something she enjoys even more than dancing, and how inadequate Momo’s sadness seems even to her own eyes because she’s not sure she loves anything more than dancing, and maybe this is all she has. She doesn’t think anyone can replace Jeongyeon, and is a little bit terrified that she’ll try to do everything by herself and won’t be successful. So Momo keeps putting off the try-outs for her replacement, attempting to buy enough time with the hope that Jeongyeon will change her mind. 

Telling this to Mina is odd in an unexpected way; Momo realizes now that she had never actually admitted this to anyone, hadn’t yet allowed herself to gather her thoughts and fears and assemble them into these words she’s just laid out for Mina to hear. But Mina doesn’t allow her to regret it; when Momo turns to her, muscles stiff with worry, to try and reroute this conversation and undo what just took place, she finds Mina’s eyes fixed on her, kind and attentive without being intrusive. 

And it begins: the feeling that she’s looking at someone who genuinely wants to know her. Someone Momo wants to know, too.

“How about you? How did you get into cheerleading?” Momo murmurs, then stays still and quiet as Mina’s eyes switch over to the dancers’ loosely-arranged formation in the classroom before them, gaze unreadable but heavy, somehow, with something taking place inside her head.

And actually— _this_ is how it begins, when Mina discloses that she had never really imagined herself in cheerleading. That she and Im Nayeon had always been best friends; that wherever Nayeon went, Mina followed. That Nayeon set her sights on cheerleading one day, and it had been sort of a foregone conclusion in Nayeon’s mind that Mina would join, too. That Nayeon’s ascension to the captainship seemed a natural development, because she’s in all ways a true-born leader, and the dedication she’s poured into her captainship instilled a deep bond of loyalty in the SM cheerleaders.

The faint hum of music envelops them, starts to weave itself into Momo’s thoughts like threads in stitching. And Mina adds quietly that she understands why Momo would feel unsure about being a captain, because Mina doesn’t feel like she could do it, either. Nayeon, she explains, has always been bold and strong and impulsive, being brave on Mina’s behalf sometimes in the moments Mina didn’t like herself enough to trust her own abilities. That Nayeon “always gives everything her best effort, without being afraid of failing. And even when she fails, she forgives herself and moves on. And I wish I was like that.”

Their steps are short and deliberate towards the hip-hop dance classroom, and meanwhile Momo tells Mina that Hana, really, has always been her biggest influence. And she’s looked up to Hana for so long and relied on her so heavily to know who she’s supposed to be, that it scares her sometimes that she’s about to graduate and be cast out into the world to be an adult, without anyone to follow, without anything she can be sure of. The same pang of anxiety strikes her—that once again she’s confessed something that feels a lot like letting Mina take a peek into some part of herself that was never meant to be exposed—but it disappears so quickly, so entirely, that Momo can barely notice it. 

This doesn’t feel like opening herself up for scrutiny or insult. It feels like trying to know someone, while someone is trying to know her, too.

It continues when they make their way to the contemporary dance classroom and Mina tells her about not knowing where and how she will fit into the world when _she_ graduates, outside of the certainties she has of what her parents want for her. Momo can’t decipher the look on Mina’s face when she admits that at times she’s overcome by doubt that she’s ever going to live up to her name; that her older brother decided very early on that a corporate career lifestyle leading Myoui Industries just wasn’t for him, and what it was like to grow up with the awareness that it meant that that lifestyle had to be the one for her, then. That there’s been a path laid out for her into which she’s stared all her life, and how little she wants to go down that path the closer she gets to it. Momo recalls Mina’s joke yesterday about her last name, and how, even without context, it had a hot weight of resentment attached to it.

The world is quieter than before, suddenly. Like their silence is louder than the melody of the music, of the shuffling and tapping of dancers’ feet, of car engines whirring outside.

While they watch the waltz dancers gliding circularly in pairs across their ballroom, Mina tells Momo with a voice somewhere between a mumble and a whisper about growing up alone, about dancing alone, about always feeling alone, about being so certain that something was wrong with her and that was why she never saw her parents and no one was ever close to her, until Im Nayeon crashed into her life in fifth grade and demanded they be friends, and that, too, being a foregone conclusion—that they would be in each other’s lives forever. 

“You and Im Nayeon… you two seem really different,” Momo murmurs, unthinking, because so much of her brain has been pleasantly inactive, soaking in Mina’s voice and Mina’s thoughts and this feeling of having been transported to some other dimension where her heart’s been turned inside out and it doesn’t terrify her. “I’ve only talked to her a few times but that’s the impression I’ve had so far.”

Quietly and thoughtfully, Mina shifts on her feet and waits a beat before disclosing, “Nayeon is my ex-girlfriend, actually.” And it’s probably because Momo forgets to school her features into some expression of surprise, the better to pretend Chaeyoung hadn’t already provided her with this information, that Mina purses her lips and amends with an almost-chuckle, “I’m guessing you already knew—that sort of information travels really fast, even in a new school.”

“Im is really, um...” Momo trails off, not entirely sure how to finish that sentence: not nice. Rude. Conceited. Pissing off a lot of people. “Protective of you,” she settles stiltedly. 

“I’ve heard that sometimes,” Mina responds after a beat, smiling now. “I’ve just never seen it for myself, and didn’t think it would still be a thing when we went to JYP. And I started hearing about that a long time ago, even before we dated, so I think this is just how she is with her friends.”

A small speck of apprehension latches onto Momo’s chest. “Is that what you guys are, nowadays? Friends?”

This is an awful, awful question, that she shouldn’t have asked—Momo knows this _immediately_ , and the regret makes her stomach clench up almost violently.

In contrast, Mina holds her gaze calmly, assuredly. Like the question makes her happy, somehow. “Yeah, she’s my best friend.” That speck gets smaller, and weighs less. “Us dating was something weird that happened,” Mina begins to recount, shaking her head slightly with amusement, “that we’ve always been so close, and we both started to realize at the same time that we weren’t straight, and I think we confused that for being meant for one another. It felt off sometimes, dating her, but I couldn’t... say anything, I didn’t know how, because sometimes Nayeon knows me better than I know myself and I thought I must be wrong for missing the way we were before. And when we broke up—well, basically, she marched into my room one day and asked me, point-blank, whether I loved her more as a girlfriend or as a friend. But she asked it like she cared about having the question answered, but not what my answer was, like she would be fine with either one. So I told her the truth.” The speck is almost gone. Almost. “And we went right back to being best friends. I feel really lucky that even after we broke up, we stayed friends. She’s a huge part of my life.” And then the speck is gone, dissolved inside her, like it was never there to begin with, and it feels like someone is letting Momo know her, while Momo lets this someone know her, too.

It continues when Momo tells Mina about Sana. “I’m friends with my ex, too, although probably not as close as you are to Im. I think you’ve met her; she’s the student body president and gave you guys a welcome speech on your first day.”

“Oh, Minatozaki Sana?” Mina is unreadable again; some part of Momo’s brain tries to fill in the gaps of the unknown. 

“Yeah, her. We... obviously didn’t work out, either.”

It’s the last part of Momo, of the things that make up who she is, that’s hard to talk about. Not because it hurts her, but because it was a kind of life lesson that she only recently was able to fully absorb.

Momo clears her throat as they enter an elevator and Mina presses a button for the floor three levels above them. They ascend to their destination and proceed to a balcony from where Momo can see a garden and a wooded area located, presumably, just behind this building. A cool breeze whispers around them and Momo tells Mina about what it was like to meet Sana, to engage in that awkward crush and courtship period, only to date her and feel, through the entirety of the year-long relationship, that perhaps what they had wasn’t what they _should_ have. That it was comfortable and it was nice; that there was nothing, really, she ever found to dislike about Sana, albeit there was never anything she could love, either, at least in any way reaching beyond the strong friendship between them. She describes being afraid to ask someone whether it was normal to be constantly waiting for something more, because the only person she could talk about this with, besides Sana herself, was Jeongyeon, who rooted for them and encouraged them because she loves them.

And then she tells Mina about trying too hard to make herself feel something she didn’t feel, about finding Sana wrestling with the same sentiment, about the ensuing break-up, and about being a little resentful afterwards because that had been her first girlfriend and she hadn’t thought things would end in this kind of weird, undefined way. And then what it was like watching Sana fall in love with Dahyun, wholeheartedly and fearlessly, and understanding that _this_ is what things were supposed to have been like, and then coming to terms, finally, with how things turned out, because the break-up didn’t mean Momo wasn’t good enough, it just meant she wasn’t the one for Sana.

And this, now, feels like Momo is watching someone truly know her, while that same someone watches Momo knowing her, too.

It continues—it just does, it might never stop—when they traverse a hallway whose walls have been lined neatly with rows and rows of pictures of world-famous musicians and performers posing with renowned choreographers, who have all made use of this studio. The entire building carries the sort of infamy that daunts Momo; after she lets out a low whistle of awe at catching sight of a particularly well-known choreographer, Mina grins at her and posits that maybe Momo’s picture will be hanging on these walls one day.

“Or maybe yours will,” Momo counters weakly, mostly because she’s at loss of what would constitute an appropriate reaction to such an enormous compliment.

A rapid consideration occurs to her—that this girl _owns_ the place and perhaps there’s some frame with a picture of her already—but before she can dwell on it, she notices that her last words seemed to have amused Mina in a particular way. Her chuckle has an added layer to it, something that sounds like gentle incredulity, that Momo can’t piece together until she wonders if being a performer, or a choreographer, isn’t even an option for her. “I’m sure it never will, but thanks. Here—let me take your picture and then when you _do_ get really famous and your face is everywhere, I’ll already have something to hang here.”

“Only if you take it with me,” a grinning Momo shoots back immediately. “So if you’re the one who gets really famous, you can just crop me out.”

Mina actually rolls her eyes as she firmly (and hilariously) disputes the likelihood of her ever cropping Momo out of a picture, but they pose together nonetheless. Momo [inspects it](https://78.media.tumblr.com/77913116f5560d63daf11e4318daa2c4/tumblr_pd64e4U4cG1vymbnlo2_400.jpg) over afterwards. It looks nice; they look nice. 

Like they know one another.

After grabbing two bowls of ice cream from the studio’s richly-furnished fifth floor (“you have a _restaurant_ in your studio?!”), a process through which Momo can’t help relentlessly making fun of a gently exasperated Mina (“I should pick an ice cream flavor and have you guess, but I’m a nice person so I’ll just ask what kind you want,” she sighs disapprovingly, and Momo retorts, “well, all the flavors are just so similar—I mean, mango and pistachio practically taste the same,” only to receive a barely-there slap on her arm), Mina comments brightly that “there’s actually a famous place here, too, that’s kind of a secret.” Her excitement is terribly contagious; it takes Momo a second to realize she’s grinning in anticipation. Mina grins back, and takes them to the roof.

Within a second of welcoming the gentle gust of fresh air and examining their surroundings, bathed in orange haze by the retreating sun on the horizon, Momo recalls in a thrilled flash of memory why she recognizes this place. “Oh, wait—there were music videos filmed here, right?”

“Yeah, a couple,” Mina confirms with the tiniest trace of pride, and they sit side-by-side on a bench that’s close enough to the edge of the building to afford them a breath-taking view of the city and the street below, without terrifying Momo with the height. Their thighs are somewhat pressed together and the ice cream is unfairly good; Momo wants to eat this here, in this exact setup, lots more times. “Hey, wasn’t this on your list?”

Momo frowns and then remembers that, too. The Senior Bucket List, the eighth item. “Oh, yeah—seeing a sunrise or a sunset. You’re right.” Impulsively, she nudges Mina with a smile. “I owe you for helping me cross off so much of my list. Two tasks already. If I win, I’ll split the prize with you.”

That brings about a laugh from Mina that punches Momo’s heart, in a good way. “You never told me what the prize was. Is it good, at least?”

“The winner gets to make a speech at graduation,” Momo explains, “right after the valedictorian.”

Mina smiles, eating some of her ice cream as well. “I don’t know how you plan on splitting that prize, but sure—I’ll help you with your list.” The flame-like rays of sunset seem pooled inside her eyes, and she looks at peace and content and beautiful, like something Momo could have dreamt up. “Hey, are we the only JYP and SM students getting along? Class was really weird today; no one was talking,” Mina poses reflectively, after a minute of them bathing in the dimming light. 

“Yeah, it looks like it... Jeongyeon and your friend Im Nayeon, for an example, are... off to a rough start,” Momo concurs, deciding to understate the actual crisis-level situation a bit. “And Sana and Park Jihyo aren’t doing much better, I guess.”

“Really? Jihyo?” There’s some palpable surprise in Mina’s tone. “Jihyo gets along with everyone. She’s probably the most well-liked person at SM.” That piece of information is in direct contrast to what Momo experienced during that first argument in the courtyard, the one that sparked off the whole operation, and also what she witnessed this morning when Park dropped off the inspection report. And Momo is probably betraying her doubt very clearly on her face, because Mina explains further, “there have been times when Jihyo kind of had to back Nayeon up when Nayeon was, um, less than friendly. But Jihyo herself is super nice.”

This gives Momo pause, of course. Because she, too, had to provide back-up to her friend during a disagreement, and was subsequently roped into the war against SM. The war she hates, because it’s pitting her against Mina. Suddenly and without quite bracing herself for it, Momo finds that she’s sympathizing with Park Jihyo.

“Tomorrow the four of us, the captains, have to sort out how to merge your squad with ours,” Momo notes neutrally, more as a reminder than anything, because she assumes Mina knows about their impending meeting already.

“Yeah, Jihyo mentioned to me that she and Minatozaki have to discuss the main school uniform, too.” Mina’s ice cream, like Momo’s, is almost gone.

Momo glances down, to nowhere in particular, but then notices that same mole again, the one on Mina’s forearm that caught her eye yesterday when she was counting Mina’s pulse. Her immediate smile seems to pique Mina’s curiosity. “Oh, just... you have that mole there,” Momo clarifies a little lamely, especially when Mina chuckles and retorts, “I have a lot of moles.”

The sun continues its plunge behind the mountains and one of her earliest curiosities re-emerges then. “Do you have a favorite one?”

The question surprises but pleases Mina; Momo can tell. “No one’s ever asked me that.” She smiles again, and Momo almost wants to look away at how bright it is. “Yeah, I do. You’ll see it tomorrow, when I’m in my cheer uniform.”

A sudden idea occurs to Momo, arising from the fog in her mind that Mina had just created. She impulsively digs into the small drawstring bag she’s been carrying on her back, fishing out her JYP cheerleading squad letterman jacket: white, with grey and black letterings and details. She requests with a tinge of enthusiasm, “Mina, can you put this on?” 

Mina grins while readily pulling Momo’s jacket around her, taking a moment afterwards to inspect the fit and feel. The left breast section is embroidered with the word ‘CAPTAIN’ while the upper back has ‘HIRAI.’ Mina had to shift away from her on the bench to try on the jacket and now the nighttime air cools Momo’s skin in the exact places that Mina had kept warm. It would probably feel odd at this point to be far away from Mina, and that should be worrisome, but isn’t.

“I like it,” Mina praises easily. “Our uniforms used to be all black and blue, and this was the first year we tried to change it up a bit and got our current ones, which are green and black.”

“Well, ours looks nice on you,” Momo finds herself complimenting, honest and warm. “I mean, not that I think anything would look bad on you.”

“It looks nice on you, too,” Mina responds with a low laugh. “You were wearing it when we met; I remember.”

When they met. 

The memory used to mortify and terrify her. She thought she’d never be able to face Mina again. And now she can’t really imagine a time and place and lifetime in which they couldn’t be up on this rooftop, enveloped by a dusk turning into early evening. She thinks it should have ended already—this sensation of being bonded to Mina, like some strand of feeling is wrapping around them, drawing closer and tighter and more inescapable—because it had a beginning, when Momo could have walked away from this studio, and didn’t, or when Momo could have stopped herself from showing Mina all the parts of herself that she hides, but didn’t. It began somewhere, at some point—maybe even earlier, she ponders now; maybe when Momo showed her the delinquent spot, or when they formally introduced themselves after Mina told her she looked familiar. It began somewhere. But it’s not... ending.

Her eyes flit to a helicopter splitting the calm of the sky behind Mina, distant but visible enough that she spots the Myoui Industries logo on its side. She focuses back on the girl who’s going to inherit that whole chunk of the business world one day.

“You know, I think you’re going to be a great captain, even if you never get a replacement for Yoo Jeongyeon.” The abruptness of her statement unsteadies Momo, even if Mina’s tone is assured and matter-of-fact, containing all the certainty that Momo lacks and wishes for. If you tell me this, I’ll believe you, she almost tells her; I’ll believe everything you ever tell me. “You’re really perfect dancing and you obviously care a lot about the squad. And everyone likes you—everyone says good things about you.” Something clenches inside Momo, makes her breath still in her lungs. That sensation that was supposed to have ended already just grows and grows and keeps growing inside Momo. “And it doesn’t seem to me like you’d ever want something that’s not in the squad’s best interest, so for what it’s worth, you have my vote for whatever you propose tomorrow.” There doesn’t seem to be any hesitation at all in this promise; Mina lets it leap from her lips easily and undoubtingly. Momo believes her. And it keeps growing. “I don’t really know how you are as a captain, but I think I know you.”

She blinks back the white-glare of her feelings, staring back at her when she takes in Mina’s empathetic gaze. It’s grown like it’s going to take over everything, over the entire world. Mina’s voice and Mina’s warmth drench her like raindrops.

There’s something more important she needs to broach, though. Everything else can wait. 

“If you’re ever alone, or dancing alone, or just want someone to be with you, and Im Nayeon is unavailable because she’s assassinating someone who tried to mess with you—” (this last part pulls Mina’s mouth into a smile, inserts a little bit of relief into Momo, that this is okay to talk about) “if that ever happens, you can let me know. I’d go to where you are, if you wanted me to.”

They’re just looking at each other on a rooftop—that’s all an outsider’s glimpse would register—but there’s a lived-in familiarity, woven between and through them, that has Momo reading Mina’s smile with unexpected clarity: the surprise, the gratefulness, the hope. Mina doesn’t actually say anything; she doesn’t need to.

Momo knows Mina. And Mina knows her, too.

-

**Friday**

“We are absolutely not wearing your terrible uniforms, Im. We outnumber you and I have an allergy to pretentiousness.”

“How dare you badtalk the SM uniforms when they were designed in Paris and made in Milan while yours are poorly sewn and look like they’re being held together with duct tape?”

“We are _not_ wearing your ugly uniforms—”

“— _insulted_ that anyone would think we’d ever wear a uniform this mediocre in quality—”

“—made of ugly, snooty fabric, with that ugly, snobby design—”

Momo’s been awkwardly following Jeongyeon and Im’s back-and-forth, hesitant to step in for fear of escalating an already-inflamed situation. Sana had updated them earlier on her meeting with Park Jihyo regarding the main uniforms (“how did it go?” “ _Awful_ ; Park is not budging on her idea to combine their blue with our grey and let me tell you—practically everyone at JYP already thinks SM is taking over everything, so if I compromise and agree to take their colors, the whole school will _riot_ ”) and now Momo realizes this discussion, too, will be much more difficult than she expected.

Mina stands across from her in the auditorium, eyes darting to and from the two girls immersed in verbal warfare, but their gazes meet in this moment and Mina raises an eyebrow questioningly. Momo knows she’s wondering, as Momo is, whether the two girls will come to a ceasefire, or whether their fighting will just stretch on until the end of time.

“We could combine our colors—” Momo tries to interject, drowned out and unnoticed as Jeongyeon and Im continue to spar.

“If you think we’re going to waste even _a second_ of our lives negotiating this with you—”

“I’ve had more stimulating conversations with inanimate objects, so what makes you think _I_ want to negotiate anything with any member of the lower bracket of society—”

Clearly discouraged, Mina sighs and shifts her positioning, uncrossing her arms to place them behind her instead. And that’s when Momo spots it, on the strip of exposed skin between the shirt and skirt of her uniform—a little mole on Mina’s side, just under her ribs, that dots her pale skin very clearly. _That’s the one_ , she smiles to herself, and makes a mental note to confirm this with Mina later.

“How did you and your snobby tastebuds like your yogurt this morning, by the way?” Jeongyeon taunts, to which Im fires back acidly, “I liked it fine, thank you—how did you like your locker? Did you make a new friend?”

Momo doesn’t have the faintest idea of what they’re referring to, so she throws a quizzical frown at Mina, who throws back her own frown. By Im’s fleeting glance in their direction, Momo wonders if the girl noticed their wordless exchange.

“If you think you’re winning this, you got a _big storm_ coming, Im.”

“Obviously no one’s informed you of this yet, so let me be the one to do it—I _am_ the storm, Yoo Jeongyeon.”

Another current of aggression sparks between the two and it tips Momo’s determination over.

“Here’s what we can do,” she interrupts assertively as the two girls appear just about ready to start throwing punches. She steps between them, to further solidify her peacemaking effort. “We’ll design a new uniform, combining our colors.” Both Jeongyeon and Im register aversion, but Momo plows on before they can revert to their fighting. This is the most important component of the plan she and Mina devised yesterday. “And… you, Im, will share responsibilities with me, as my vice-cap—”

Their reactions are instant and perfectly in sync. 

“ _The fuck_ I will—”

“ _The fuck_ she will—”

Mina is biting back a smile that Momo wishes she could look at longer.

“Hell will host the Winter Olympics before I agree to be your vice, Hirai—”

“Momo, sidebar!” Jeongyeon calls out meanwhile, not waiting for a response before she’s already grabbing Momo’s arm and dragging her towards a corner of the auditorium. “What the fuck! When I said I wanted you to find a replacement for me, I didn’t mean the Grim Reaper! This is the worst idea you’ve ever had, and you’ve had a lot of them!”

Momo doesn’t even get the first syllable out. “Jeong—” 

“I had a literal _bat_ fly out of my locker this morning that got tangled in my hair and I died 50,000 deaths while Chae helped me get it out and you think I’m going to be in a squad where _Im Nayeon_ is the vice-captain? There are still five months until graduation!”

In very few instances of their friendship has Momo ever witnessed this level of fury from her best friend, and she wishes she could have given Jeongyeon a heads-up of this plan, even if Mina had argued that it would better if both Im and Jeongyeon believed Momo had come up with the plan on the spot. There’s a larger sense of purpose that spurs Momo on, however, despite this discouraging display. “Jeong, there are enough SM cheerleaders joining our squad now that they do need representation in the leadership.”

This is a sound argument, something Jeongyeon can’t debate. “She’s not going to agree to it,” Jeongyeon argues, still infuriated but apparently changing tactics. “She’s not going to be someone’s vice-captain, least of all yours, judging by how chummy you and Myoui Mina are being this morning.”

The second half of that sentence isn’t necessarily something she has time to clarify at the moment, so she moves past it. “Well, I hope she does agree,” a half-hearted Momo settles for responding, equally disbelieving of her own odds. “You won’t quit the squad if she agrees, will you?”

“She won’t agree—she’s too bitchy and bossy and self-centered.”

“But if she does… you’re staying with me, right? You’re staying in the squad, right?”

Although Momo has every intention of respecting Jeongyeon’s wishes should she give a negative answer, she holds her breath in frail hope that she’ll give her a positive one, instead.

It takes several seconds; Momo’s frail hope gets frailer and frailer and almost disappears.

“Fine,” Jeongyeon grumbles darkly. “ _If_ you keep Satan under control and not let her run the squad instead of you.”

The rush of victory is so potent that Momo lets out a tiny shriek of happiness and throws herself onto Jeongyeon in a tight embrace. Jeongyeon laughs as she pushes Momo away with mock disgust. “You owe me so big for this, Momo—if I ask for your firstborn, don’t be surprised.”

When they make their way back to their previous location, Mina is shooting her a glance that feels like a warning.

“Do I even need to tell you all the reasons I’m going to turn down your offer, or can we just save everyone the time and skip over to my no?” The impatient crossing of arms, the indolent posture, the abrasive tone—Momo appreciates Im for being who she is in Mina’s life, but honestly wonders how in the world these two can be friends.

“Just... hear her terms,” Mina suggests mildly to Im, giving Momo an encouraging look.

It doesn’t actually do much to encourage Momo, but she releases an internal sigh of dejection and proceeds. “On major issues, you’ll be part of the decision-making process.” God, she’s going to regret this so much; she already knows. “Your choreographer and I will collaborate on the routines.” She meets Mina’s eye and wants very badly to smile, but reminds herself of the necessity of a poker face when dealing with a girl who is, by all accounts, the embodiment of a nightmare. “You and I can discuss other matters, as long as you know that you answer to me; you’re my vice, so you’re under me.”

And it’s a narrowing of eyes, cunning and intimidatingly sharp, that tempts Momo to take several steps back. She stands her ground, but... really, just barely.

“You know,” Im begins, exaggerating wistfulness, “many people over the years have wanted me under them. With a few rare, notable exceptions,” she casts a very, very indiscreet glance at Mina, who instantly flushes and purses her lips, “I’ve never let that happen. What makes you think I’ll agree to this?”

Did she just...

Is she... baiting Momo? Using Mina? 

Why would she even...

Uneasily, Momo replies, “the school only has one squad. This is it. You can’t create another one. Unless you just don’t want to be a cheerleader anymore, you have to join us. And if you want to have any say in the decisions made for the squad, you have to agree to my terms.”

Im actually scoffs, a sound of disdain and disbelief, and Momo’s patience wears thin.

“Oh, and you have to stop pranking Jeongyeon,” Momo adds with her best shot at acerbic, because she needs it; “she’ll be one of your squad members so you can’t keep doing things against her.”

Momo is about to turn beside her, intending on silently asking Jeongyeon whether that mandate was reasonable, when Im speaks up again.

“Listen, Hirai; this is a two-sided war.” Another glint of menace flashes across Im’s features and hints at Momo that she’s going to be taunted again. “I always give as good as I get. Ask Mina; she’ll tell you.”

Yes, she’s _definitely_ baiting Momo. The innuendo isn’t even subtle. Momo’s patience wears even thinner, practically nonexistent now.

It’s Mina whose worried gaze bounces from Momo’s glare to Im’s defiant smirk, and who reaches out to grab Im’s arm.

“Can we sidebar, too?” Barely tampering down her irritation, Momo nods approvingly and watches Mina pull Im Nayeon out of the auditorium.

“Well, she obviously doesn’t want to risk us hearing them,” Jeongyeon remarks dryly.

An idea spurts in Momo’s mind and she hurriedly pivots to another exit, calling out behind her, “Jeong, I’m going to get our uniforms from three seasons ago—the white ones with the blue and yellow—maybe they’ll agree to the uniform change if I show them.”

That, as it turns out, is a monumental mistake.

Momo enters the vacant gym annex inside which the school stores all sorts of miscellaneous supplies—extra chairs, broken desks, dusty trophies, rusty maintenance equipment, and, most importantly at the moment, all the older previous editions of the sports uniforms. She crouches down behind a stack of chairs, and dutifully digs through a box from which she fishes out the set she had looked for. She stands and turns on her heel victoriously, and then immediately crouches back down in horror when none other than Im Nayeon and Mina walk inside.

“Okay, this one is empty,” Im declares, and Momo blanches when she realizes there’s no way she can crawl out of her hiding spot without being noticed by the two girls barely 5 yards from her. “I’m texting Jihyo to meet us here, too.”

Peeking from a sufficiently-concealed spot between two stacks of chairs, Momo spots Im focused on her phone and Mina drawing what looks like a deep, steadying breath. “Hey, was it just me or were you making comments about us back there?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Im rebuts wryly, not even attempting to conceal her lie. “My words were completely innocent.”

“Really.” Mina narrows her eyes, almost impatiently. “So that part about you being under me wasn’t referring to us having... um, to me—”

“Topping? Absolutely not,” Im defends melodramatically. “Besides, even if I had been talking about that, it was true 50% of the time, wasn’t it?” There’s a small, bothersome, and _really_ inconvenient part of Momo that wants to actually think about and process this piece of information. She hushes it instead, and observes Mina discreetly clenching her jaw with aggravation; she’s going to walk away or reprehend Im—or both—until Im amends apologetically, “it’s just a negotiation tactic.”

“You shouldn’t be negotiating; you should accept.”

Nayeon drops her arms to her sides and stares at Mina as though she’s just told her that plants can fly. “You seriously think I’m going to be Hirai Momo’s vice-captain?”

“You can’t be the captain—they do outnumber us so it’s not like we can hold a vote—so you have to be the vice. Also, you always said the captainship should be given to whoever is most skilled.” Mina has already calmed down entirely—a feat even more impressive given how not-receptive Im Nayeon is to the proposal. “And she’s the best dancer I’ve ever seen.”

Momo wants to blush again at how matter-of-factly Mina states this, but her attention is diverted to Im’s incredulity.

“Better than me?”

“Yes.”

“Better than _you_?”

“Better than both of us, put together.”

Okay, yes, she has to blush now.

“Oh my God,” Im groans, “all the jokes are true. You do have a type.”

Mina’s flushing now and Momo is flooded with discomfort suddenly—this is not a conversation she should be hearing. Topping comment aside, she definitely shouldn’t be finding out Mina has a type before Mina herself discloses this to her.

“I don’t. And she _is_ an amazing dancer—that’s an objective fact.”

Just as Momo is nervously scanning the space surrounding her for an alternative route she can drag herself through to make an exit, Park Jihyo pushes her way into the room. 

“Good; you’re here. I need your help,” Im announces haughtily, but Mina readily interjects with, “first, tell us how your negotiation is going with Minatozaki?” and Momo has barely witnessed a minute of their conversation and already notices how close Mina and Im Nayeon really are—even in discussing something that pits them in adversarial positions, Im is about 1000% less abrasive and there’s no trace of hesitation in the way Mina addresses her.

“Well, Minatozaki is making it really, really hard to cooperate with her; she fights me on everything and makes every little thing a thousand times more difficult than it needs to be,” Park sighs morosely as a reply. “How are things with you two?”

“We’re negotiating merging the two squads,” Mina tells, and then seems to tuck away a smile when Im huffs, miffed.

“I have a moron trying to convince me to be the squad’s vice-captain—” Mina stiffens and Im notices immediately; “—not you, Mina; you’re a literal angel. I mean your pest of a girlfriend, Hirai Momo.”

For the sake of decency and in the interest of preserving Mina’s privacy, Momo really wishes she could look away and cover her ears. But her eyes are hopelessly widened and glued to the three girls to capture Mina’s reaction, which turns out to be a disheartened sigh that she has no time to follow up with a statement, because Park readily jumps in.

“Wait—you’re dating Hirai Momo, the _cheer captain_?” Mina draws a breath to speak but Park amends, “wow, you really do have a type.”

While Im bursts into laughter and Park is watching her with some mild puzzlement, Mina throws them an annoyed glower.

“We’ve been here less than a week. I’m not dating anyone.”

“We were here less than _three hours_ and she had already kissed you,” a self-satisfied Im points out, much to Park’s amusement, “so you can’t use the ‘it’s too soon’ argument.” Momo is wondering how long they’ll keep discussing a topic that Mina clearly dislikes, and then finds that she didn’t need to wonder, because the answer is: a long time. “And besides, when you mentioned her to me that first time, you said she’s ‘really, really pretty.’”

It’s Park’s turn to laugh as Mina’s face is flooded with color.

“She _is_ pretty. And you agreed with me!”

“Of course I agreed with you—I have eyes. That’s not the point.”

Maybe if she activates the fire alarm, everyone will be evacuated and she can escape this room, Momo ponders briefly.

“At least she’s getting along with her mentor,” Park posits thoughtfully. “You know, Nayeon, I really think we wouldn’t be going through all this trouble if you hadn’t gotten into an argument with one of them on our first day here—”

A cavalier Im interrupts with, “did you see who I was dealing with? Besides, she started it.”

“No, she didn’t,” Park disagrees immediately. “If I remember correctly, you compared their school to a Third World prison and that’s how this started.”

“You said _what_?” a shocked Mina inquires. 

“You weren’t there,” Jihyo explains to Mina gently, “you had already left to go find the library—”

“—and get kissed by Hirai Momo—”

The rapid-fire chat is a bit disorienting, but Park’s contributions are what stand out to Momo; it’s true, then, what Mina had alluded to yesterday. Park Jihyo didn’t want this war, either.

Ignoring Im’s interjection, Park continues, “and now Minatozaki is trying to sign me up for the district’s _janitorial internship_ —”

“Why don’t you just blow out her car tires or something?”

Mina has the decency of looking increasingly horrified by the entire exchange.

“That’s not how student body presidents do war, Nayeon. I’m not going to start vandalizing lockers and destroying uniforms.”

“We’re at _war_?” Mina asks, aghast; “I thought we just weren’t agreeing with them. Is that why you asked me to buy 100 cases of eggs—” but her words are lost in Im and Park’s back-and-forth. 

“Okay, then keep doing Minatozaki’s job for her and writing 30-page reports— _that’ll_ show her.”

“I’m serious—we should be getting along with our new classmates, and your war is going to ‘inspire’ the other students to join in against their own mentors. You need to call this off.”

Park’s urging seems to spark Im into a more offensive stance; something steel-like springs to life in her, and the entire room seems to chill and darken. “Listen, I ate a spoonful of my yogurt this morning and found out it had been replaced with expired mayonnaise. I opened my gym bag and it had been filled with a hundred plastic cockroaches. Then I went to the bathroom and got locked in and all the toilets started flushing by themselves like they were _possessed_ by _demons_ , so you tell me if you think I’m calling off this war any time soon.”

A pregnant pause ensues, cut short when Park starts chuckling and Mina averts her eyes, apparently to hide a smile.

“So someone is finally fighting back, huh? Yoo Jeongyeon… I think I like her.” In response to Park’s quip, Im grumbles moodily, “God, I need new friends,” but Park is already patting her shoulder consolingly and requesting, “I want you to graduate without going to jail, so please don’t commit any crimes.”

“I may have _already_ committed a crime… or seven,” Im admits with a carefree shrug, prompting Park and Mina to release matching groans of displeasure.

Rerouting the conversation, Park turns to Mina, tugging on her hand and asking, “what are you doing this weekend? It’s your dad’s birthday, right?”

“Everyone is in different countries so we’re having a FaceTime dinner,” Mina answers simply, just as the three begin—FINALLY—to walk towards the gym annex’s exit. 

“A FaceTime dinner? For a birthday? Is that a Myoui thing?”

“Yeah, it is,” Im shrugs casually, squeezing herself between Park and Mina, and throwing her arms around both. “Like owning islands, neglecting their children, putting their name on things…”

Momo watches their last steps as they approach the doorway and, as soon as the exit door has closed behind them, speeds off into a mad dash via the opposite exit. Her use of an alternative exit means she has to take the longer way back to the auditorium, but she still hopes to arrive there before Im and Mina do. She’s barely successful—and apparently only so because the two girls returned in a leisurely pace.

“Where the hell were you?” Jeongyeon asks immediately, surveying her breathless, flushed appearance, and the discreet sheen of sweat no doubt glistening on her skin.

“Um… I had to take a detour.”

A bare second elapses after Im and Mina set foot inside the auditorium, and Momo’s eyes gravitate to Mina automatically, detecting her happy, pulse-stilling smile even before Im herself confirms it. 

“Fine. I accept.”

-

At lunch, Momo makes her way to the table on which Jeongyeon and Im are already sitting, and it takes very little time for her to notice that whatever the conversation is about, it’s not particularly cordial. Her approach reveals more and more snippets of it, until she reaches the table and wearily debates retrieving her phone to text Mina an update that their two friends are still a half-step away from using their eating utensils as weapons.

“… losing actual IQ points in this conversation, Yoo.”

“Hey,” Momo greets carefully. “What are we talking about?”

“ _Death_ ,” Jeongyeon replies dully and instantly, “and how quickly I wish it would embrace me.”

“The transition of our responsibilities, actually,” Im corrects pointedly.

While the two resume their bickering, Momo plucks her phone from her backpack; she needs to send a picture of her notes from history class to an absentee member of the squad. Opening her phone’s album so absentmindedly isn’t wise, of course—not when one of the last pictures she took is of her and Mina. A swell of red-hot affection renders her momentarily immobile as she stares at the screen, and she forgets completely to keep track of the conversation taking place beside her.

“…talking to you and I can _feel_ my brain getting smaller,” Jeongyeon is grumbling when Momo finally snaps back into focus.

“Can it though?” a cheeky Im responds pityingly, “get any smaller?”

Thankfully, another obligation pulls a relieved Jeongyeon from the table, which coincides with Mina’s own arrival. It’s positively whiplash-inducing, alternating looking at Im’s narrow-eyed suspicion, and then sinking into Mina’s cheerful smile of greeting.

“Sorry for being late; I was talking to Jihyo about the commercial thing.”

Momo is a bit thrown by that statement; she has absolutely no idea what ‘thing’ Mina is talking about.

“Are you going to film it today?” Im inquires from Mina, who then addresses her answer to both Im and Momo, and Momo isn’t sure if she’s merely being polite, or has some special interest in informing Momo as well.

“Yes, we’re doing all the practice takes and the editing today after school.” 

Momo stares at her blankly; Im takes great pleasure in her cluelessness and explains loftily, “Mina and Jihyo coordinate this really huge charity auction event every year.” Oh, yes… Momo remembers that. This factoid had been part of Chaeyoung’s background check on Mina, and Mina herself had mentioned this during their school tour. “And they’re trying to set it up here, even though they don’t have a lot of time—back at SM, it was almost all set up already.”

“What are you guys auctioning off?” a curious Momo inquires, unprepared for what the answer turns out to be.

“Dates.” It would probably be rude to perform a double-take, which is why Momo is glad she anchors down her muscles and fights against the automatic impulse. “Each club usually has one member who volunteers to be an auction item,” Mina delineates smilingly, “and then the auction happens, students place their bids, and the auction items take their winning bidders on creative dates they come up with. At the same time, the other club members are bidding for other clubs, or participating in other fundraising activities. All the money raised goes to a charity of the club’s choice.”

“It’s a super old tradition from SM and the money used to go to the clubs themselves—Mina said it sounded like prostitution and convinced the administration and all the students to have the money go to charity instead.”

Pieces of the puzzle are finding their way together but Momo attempts to clear up a few more parts. “And you’re filming a commercial for this auction thing?”

Again, Im is (annoyingly) ready to provide the necessary information. “Jihyo got the video club to give Mina a 30-second spot that’ll be aired next Monday, to kind of advertise the auction and ask the clubs to sign up. And I’m very proud of you, by the way,” Im gushes—a foreign sight all on its own—as she pats Mina’s hand on the table and turns to Momo. “She hates public speaking, and in our former school, she’d never have had to ask any clubs or teams to sign up; everyone just did it.”

Momo’s eyes fleetingly track the positioning of Im’s hand atop Mina’s, and she ponders that it shouldn’t be so hard to tell apart when Im is genuinely caring for Mina, and when she’s presumably attempting to provoke Momo. 

“The cheerleaders will do it,” Momo declares firmly, surprising both Im and Mina. “We’ll sign up.”

“Really?” The unmistakable relief in Mina’s voice is disarmingly earnest. “I wasn’t sure the squad would want to join and I didn’t want to ask you and make you feel pressured.” Momo is about to provide some reassurance to alleviate that worry, when Im wedges in with her own offer.

“And I’ll be the auction item for the cheerleaders.” By the way Mina lifts her eyebrows in apparent pleasant surprise, this is unusual as well. “I never volunteered before and this is my senior year—you’re right, Mina; we might as well get this over with.”

Mina’s “thank you” is only partially out when she receives a call from Park Jihyo and shyly excuses herself from the table.

In a snap of a second, Im flips from charitable gentility to predatory distrust as she turns her focus with laser-like intensity to Momo, who then almost chokes on her food mid-swallow.

“If you do _anything_ to mess this up for her, I will _shave your head in your sleep_.”

Yesterday morning, before Momo was guided through Mina’s studio and Mina’s mind, this vaguely intimidating threat would have irritated Momo to no end. Today, she remembers—Im Nayeon was the girl who stomped into Mina’s life in fifth grade and made sure Mina never felt alone again.

“The cheerleaders always do charity projects every year,” Momo states evenly, instead of telling Im to go find another person to torment. “We would’ve eventually done something like this anyway. So you can relax.”

“I trust you about as much as I trust your school’s tap water,” Im hisses menacingly, and now Momo figures she _has_ to fight back, because the insult is directed squarely at her and her school.

Just slightly, she leans forward on the table, and makes her voice sturdy and her face determined as she holds Im’s gaze. “Well, you’re not the one who has to trust me.”

It feels, quite abruptly, like she’s challenged a demon to a duel when Im sends her a withering leer. “If you flake on this, I’m going to—oh, hey; what’s wrong?”

Momo swivels in her seat and sees an unsubtly nervous Mina standing by their table.

“So, um… turns out the commercial can’t be aired on Monday. It has to be aired today, after lunch, during this segment they do for 5 minutes during fifth period.” She shifts on her feet, telegraphing awkwardness. “So it's going to be aired live. I have to film it in like 15 minutes, and it’s going to be live, and I haven’t really prepared to do it like that. And Jihyo has a meeting so she can’t do it.”

She hates public speaking, Im had stated. That’s why she’s paled like this, why she’s afraid. Momo feels helpless, suddenly.

“I’ll do it for you,” Im offers again, an undercurrent of worry and trying-hard in her voice. “I was made to act—I’m attractive and a great liar.”

“You also asked a JYP junior in the hallway last period how the parolee life is going for her,” Mina replies with a concerned frown. “I think you’ll repel people instead of encouraging them to join.”

The little apprehensions Momo harbors to keep herself well-behaved and prudent disappear, and she speaks before she’s quite had a chance to select her own words. 

“I’ll do it.” The two girls pivot to face her. Then, it dawns on Momo that she has very little idea of what this auction thing entails, so she amends quickly, “I mean, I’ll do it with you. I’ve done live announcements for the school lots of times. I could help you.”

It’s not quite the strong display of confidence she’ll wish, in hindsight, she had put forth. But it does the job—Mina grins, Im studies her with something like bafflement, and then two minutes later, Mina and Momo are in JYP High’s video club office, reading a makeshift script while a large digital clock counts down the minutes until lunch is over and they’re called to the filming area.

In hindsight, it wasn’t the best idea, either, to make a joke about how they might forget their dialogue and she’ll finally be able to scratch off ‘embarrass yourself in public’ from her list, because it makes Mina blanch, nauseous-like, imagining the worst.

That faux-pas prompts a regretful Momo to pull Mina behind a very small, dimmed, curtained-off portion of the room, intended to facilitate wardrobe changes and make-up touch-ups, and which Momo utilizes in the last two minutes before their turn to come up with some aggregation of encouraging words that will balm over Mina’s anxieties.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” she whispers gently, mindful of the other students on the other side of the curtain. “It’ll be quick, you’re well-spoken, this is something you care about,” and her brain adds before she can help it, “and you don’t have to do it by yourself.”

There’s a bond here already, between them. Momo will think about this, later—how strong it became, how deep, in such little time. 

“I don’t usually do this,” Mina whispers back, gaze trained on their script. “The attention—I hide from it. I never go looking for it. I’m going to speak live, on air in front of 500 students, and I don’t even have a social media account. Nayeon forced me to get an Instagram and I never, ever used it, and literally forgot the password.” This tidbit tempts Momo to laugh, and, probably sensing this, Mina smacks her lightly with the paper in her hand. “It’s not funny, Momo; I really don’t see myself being able to do this.”

Momo’s heart turns over in her throat with the want, the need, to make this better. 

“You know what I think, honestly?” It’s so much easier than she thought it would be, to like someone like this. This is the way it should be. “That you can do anything you want to do.” She’s immersed in all the feelings she could have kept herself from feeling, if she had never gotten to know Mina the way she does. But she does know Mina, and Mina knows her. This is what Momo will focus on, in hindsight; how it’s still growing, how it’s never going to stop, and how Momo is completely, 100% fine with that. “I really mean that.”

Mina blinks at her, as though her mind is turning over the words. Momo takes in the bright quality of her eyes and is taken aback by the happiness she spots inside them. It’s not a sudden thing, exactly; it’s slow-creeping like the first unhurried rays of sunrise. 

A surge of shyness has Momo breaking her gaze away and down, only for it to find that mole again on Mina’s abdomen.

“Is that it? Your favorite?” she tries to confirm, a little lower than she had wanted. Impulsively, she reaches out across the small distance between them and grazes a finger over it, in a touch as light and delicate as bird flight.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Mina is quieter than expected, too. Glancing up, Momo catches sight of a blush and an expression located squarely between nervous and excited. 

Her finger remains there for only a second more. It detects the warmth of the skin, the gentle, barely-there contour of her rib. Mina maintains her gaze fixed on Momo, and that second expands, elastic-like; drags on like the hands of the clock are stuck in place. Then, the subtle office alarm beeps the imminence of their turn, and Momo pulls her hand back.

Momo won’t have the opportunity to watch the commercial until a week later, since it airs live and the next couple of days are more than sufficiently hectic that she forgets almost entirely that she and Mina filmed a segment together.

When she does watch the video, she’ll remember the details of the incident, and connect the sights and sounds with her immediate feelings as everything took place.

She’ll remember the slight waver of Mina’s voice when she introduced herself: “Hi, I’m Myoui Mina, a transfer student from SM Prep,” and how significantly less timid she was after Momo attempted to introduce herself, as well; “and I’m Hirai Momo, a student… from… here,” only to trail off with an embarrassed wince that sparked a wave of laughter from the film staff.

She’ll remember how enthusiastically Mina described the charity project, and how hard it was to keep her own smile from widening too much when Mina beamed as she reached a particularly exciting part (“and all the funds raised by your club will be given directly to your charity, towards a great cause”).

She’ll remember also how lively her own voice was when she decided to announce, off-script, her role in the project: “there are many opportunities to volunteer. I, for an example, will be helping connect your club to your charity,” much to Mina’s surprise. And then how difficult it was to contain her own shock when Mina decided to reveal something off-script, as well. “And I’ll be the auction item for the gaming club.”

Mina grins at the camera, delivers the rehearsed parting words ("we hope to count on your participation"), and the camera switches off.

They’re removing their microphones and readying to leave the video club office, Mina chattering excitedly about their success, when Momo blurts out awkwardly, “I didn’t know you were going to be an auction item.”

“Oh, yeah; I forgot to tell you,” Mina tells cheerily, packing her belongings. “I’ve never been an auction item even though I've always been the coordinator for the project, so I was talking to Nayeon about how maybe I should lead by example this year. I still need to come up with an idea for my date, though. It might depend on who will win me, I guess.”

They have to hurry to their respective classes and have no time to continue their conversation; Momo takes her seat in fifth period Chemistry beside her assigned partner, Im Nayeon, and is still reflecting on that last discovery.

“So. I saw the commercial.” Im’s flat delivery jolts her out of her musings. “You really aren’t sabotaging her.”

“No, of course I’m not,” Momo responds immediately, caught off-guard by the question and going as far as amending that with, “why would you think…” before cutting herself off as she realizes there was no reason for Im to believe Momo _wasn’t_ trying to undermine Mina. Jeongyeon and Sana’s behavior hasn’t exactly been friendly. “I’m not going to do anything against her.”

Im studies her for a long couple of seconds, practically seeing through Momo, which is a hundred levels of unnerving.

“Don't think I'm not going to keep an eye on you, Hirai,” she declares solemnly.

“So does that mean you’ll stop with the death threats?” Momo risks, rewarded immediately with a disdainful scoff.

“Don’t push your luck.” She retrieves a cola bottle from her backpack, just as Momo is turning back to their assignments with a small, satisfied smile. The sound of Im discreetly gagging and spitting something out onto a cup yanks her attention. “ _This_ ,” Im growls with ill-hidden fury, holding the bottle between them for Momo’s inspection, “is not Coke. It’s _soy sauce_.”

Instantly, Momo covers her mouth with her hand to drown out a laugh.

“Tell your friend Yoo Jeongyeon that some time today, I’m going to collect her soul, and I’m not going to be gentle.”

-

After class, Momo texts Mina.

 **[Insert Name unnie | 2:15]** A lot of people have talked to me already about signing up  
**[Insert Name unnie | 2:15]** so the commercial worked  
**[Mina Something-Something | 2:16]** Thank you for helping me  
**[Mina Something-Something | 2:16]** I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you  
**[Mina Something-Something | 2:16]** And we didn’t embarrass ourselves after all :)  
**[Insert Name unnie | 2:17]** I guess I’ll have to scratch that off my bucket list some other time :)

She also texts her manager at The Thai-Tanic.

 **[Hirai Momo | 2:18]** Good afternoon, Mr. Kim. I was wondering whether I could have more hours at the restaurant this weekend and next week? I’d like to save up for something and this would help me. Thank you for your time.  
**[Mr. Kim BossMan | 2:19]** Yes, Momo. Come in at noon on the weekend, and we’ll talk about your hours for the weekdays.  
**[Hirai Momo | 2:20]** Thank you, Mr. Kim. I’ll be there.

-

Friday ends; the weekend lulls by as well. And then Monday arrives, and the proverbial shit hits the proverbial fan.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your patience and kind words--there's no way I can express how grateful I am for the encouragement :')
> 
> And this chapter is dedicated to [@kyokoriing](https://twitter.com/kyokoriing), with whom I went to KCON; who texted me in all-caps and with 947459 exclamation marks when we bought our tickets, who watched me do law school homework while we waited in line to see Twice, who lost her voice with me when we were screaming at Twice's concert, and who didn't laugh when I had to use binoculars because I have shit eyesight.


	4. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [the moment](http://bby-jeongyeon.tumblr.com/post/152328979176) that first made me a 2yeon stan (that [7th gif](https://78.media.tumblr.com/4927911dc1db86cb5b3e308291f6f0cf/tumblr_ofnapr4APa1vxz7rko7_250.gif) after the "what?"... ooomph my heart), and [this MiMoment](https://twitter.com/MiMo_Heart_Beat/status/1016929392361000960) that always makes me swoon.

**THE PRESENT**

“Okay, take a shot if…” Jeongyeon fishes out another paper square from the bowl just as Mina surreptitiously counts the miniature glass cups in front of her, wondering how long it’s been since she’s been properly drunk. Jeongyeon, Jihyo, and Chaeyoung are the sturdiest drinkers, Mina, Dahyun, and Tzuyu are the weakest, and Nayeon and Sana fall somewhere in between. Mina is unsure where Momo stands on this scale; she’s been drunk with Momo exactly once—at Momo’s and the other seniors’ graduation—and her recollections of that evening are murky, at best. This is the first time, as adults, that all 9 of them are gathered in a party and drinking together, and it’s occurring for no small occasion: Nayeon and Jeongyeon’s engagement party, the one she’s having prior to a separate gathering she must host for her peers in the film industry. Unfolding the paper, Jeongyeon laughs and reads, “if you were part of a clique in high school, take a shot.”

“Oh great—all the cheerleaders, basically,” Nayeon grumbles, as she, Jeongyeon, Momo, Mina, and Dahyun all reach for their glasses with varying degrees of wariness. “You know, no one is going to convince me that you student council folks weren’t in some kind of cult,” Nayeon posits snarkily as Mina swallows her gulpful of vodka and winces. It’s only her second shot and she’s already uncertain that she’ll make it through the whole game without passing out.

Sana bristles a bit at the comment, finding Tzuyu and Jihyo rolling their eyes good-naturedly as well. “If it hadn’t been for us ‘cult members,’ the school would’ve destroyed itself in our senior year.”

It’s Dahyun’s turn to select a paper, and as she reaches inside the bowl, Mina lets her eyes wander to capture the decorative details of Nayeon and Jeongyeon’s beach house living room. The home itself is appropriately enormous, very much the type of residence one would expect from a world-famous actress. The walls are almost completely covered with pictures of the 9 of them, including an enlarged version of a [photobooth snapshot](https://78.media.tumblr.com/9b666627ac4f61c8e572ce1f02cf04ee/tumblr_penew12f8Y1ryyzom_1280.jpg) taken a week before the seniors graduated and which hangs prominently at the foyer. Sana and Tzuyu have always made a point of harassing Nayeon over how many of the pictures on these walls are actually just vanity shots of Nayeon herself. It takes a deeper dive into Nayeon’s phone and computer to stumble upon [thousands](https://78.media.tumblr.com/a31acd8a19fab2ebabb848b95e69ddbb/tumblr_pe713bnsSd1xxhju0o1_540.jpg) and [thousands](https://78.media.tumblr.com/bd537700b9886ef427a339c697b5d996/tumblr_oe0rawL9yL1rnk2vho6_400.jpg) of photos of the person she loves the most, so much more than she loves herself or anyone else. The person she loathed in high school. The person she admitted just before the engagement she didn’t know how to live without anymore (“but don’t tell her I said that; she’s got a big enough head”). Mina tucks her smile away at the memory.

“Take a shot if… you graduated high school with a perfect GPA. Crap; that’s me…” Everyone laughs immediately at Dahyun’s cringe of displeasure. She, Jeongyeon, Mina, and Tzuyu all reach for shot glasses and Mina sighs afterwards, truly regretting now having agreed to participate in this game.

“Take a shot if…” Tzuyu reads off, and Mina hopes fervently that she can skip at least this round to recover from the last two. “If you ever got an F grade in high school or college.”

Instantly relieved, Mina retreats slightly from the low table containing all the dozens of shot glasses, and sits back on the carpeted floor to watch Nayeon and Sana snatch their shot glasses from the table with their own version of cocky defiance.

“You’re all nerds and Sana and I just happened to be the cool kids,” Nayeon comments airily, proudly tapping her shot glass against Sana’s and coolly knocking it back. Their school grades, of course, never really mattered or were determinative of how smart anyone was, or in which field they were destined to work: Nayeon’s semi-photographic memory means she can remember every line of a script she read three years ago, Sana already spoke 3 languages before their high school graduation and “accidentally” learned her fourth when she studied in Cambodia for three months. Chaeyoung can build a computer with “4 wires and 3 bolts,” Jihyo knows practically every constitution of every country in the world, Jeongyeon and Tzuyu publish increasingly prestigious biochemistry articles seemingly every other month, Mina knows economics better than she knows her own family members, and Dahyun plays almost every instrument known to man. And Momo…

Momo won industry awards for dancing, and choreographed routines for three of Asia’s most prominent performing artists, all in her first year of college. Mina has no idea what she’s done after that. She wonders if Momo still…

No. This isn’t something to dwell on for now. 

Mina straightens up to lean forward and retrieve a paper from the bowl for her turn, but is interrupted when Nayeon starts with what appears to be a sudden memory, and calls out, “Mina, are you going to tell them your big news?”

At Nayeon’s prompting, Mina stiffens with the recollection at the notification she received yesterday. “Oh, right…” Her gaze sweeps each of her friend’s faces, and if it sort of jumps over Momo, she doesn’t think anyone notices. “I got invited to be the keynote speaker at the JYP senior graduation this year.”

A wave of collective laughter is the shared reaction to her announcement, and Mina flushes with embarrassment and laughs, too, already anticipating her friends’ imminent harassment.

“Ooh; Myoui Mina, _notable JYP alum_ ,” Dahyun teases, muffled by Chaeyoung’s guffawing.

“You can now join Tzuyu and I in this prestigious club,” Jeongyeon brags, high-fiving a laughing Tzuyu.

“Wait—did they forget you literally have a delinquency record and got like _fifty days_ of detention?” Sana amends incredulously as everyone doubles over in renewed laughter. 

Mina remembers that. Well, she remembers a faint hum of confusion woven through her heartbeats whenever Momo looked at her, whenever she heard Momo’s voice, whenever Momo touched her, and not quite comprehending the accompanying sensation of being unmoored inside a storm of her own feelings. And she remembers also when the hum disappeared; the surprise with herself and looking over at Momo’s proud grin and thinking, knowing, and being absolutely certain, this is the person I’m in love with.

She looks at Momo now, chuckling at the group’s conversation, and isn’t entirely sure she’s not still thinking, knowing, and being absolutely certain, of the same thing.

“I still can’t believe Jeong was invited to speak before me,” an indignant Nayeon posits with displeasure. “What kind of world are we living in—”

Jeongyeon cuts that off with a loud, obnoxious chortle, easily leaning to her fiancée to plant a quick kiss on her temple. “Babe, you need to get over that—”

“I should totally be invited—I’ve done plenty of important things!” Nayeon carries on petulantly, an almost perfect caricature of a spoiled former queen bee. “I pulled a man from a fire in my last movie; didn’t you guys watch it?”

Mina can’t contain her own laugh at the hilarity of her resentment.

“Stop laughing, you assholes!”

Jihyo dutifully yanks everyone back to the game they were playing, and Mina is still smiling when she reads from her paper, letters a bit blurrier than they would’ve been just fifteen minutes ago.

“Take a shot if…” Mina stops—oh, this is not a good question—and almost throws the paper back into the bowl. “If you ever had sex on your high school campus.” She can’t help it—her eyes dart over to Momo, like a reflex, wanting to know if they’re in some kind of agreement to acknowledge this or not. Momo, too, throws her a discreet questioning look, but for all their millisecond-long attempt at subtlety, they apparently are not subtle enough.

“Why are you guys looking at each other? Everyone knows,” an entertained Sana argues, and everyone laughs again as Mina—and Momo, it should be noted—flushes. 

“Seriously, I can’t believe you two, out of all of us, are trying to pretend you didn’t do it.”

Without bothering with a response, Mina swallows her shot as quickly as she can to rush along the change of subject, and then notices that everyone, predictably, has taken shots, except for Sana, Jihyo, Dahyun, and Tzuyu.

“Student body presidents,” Jihyo shrugs, as an explanation, joined in sympathy by Sana and Dahyun. “We can’t break rules like that.”

“Wait a second—Chaeyoung!” Jeongyeon notices, much to Chaeyoung’s instant amusement. Nayeon and Momo both gasp in shock. “Who was it?”

“Oh—Yeri!” Sana answers knowingly, and everyone immediately nods as Chaeyoung laughs her confirmation. “Yes, I remember that... tryst.” After plucking a paper from the bowl, Sana proceeds, “take a shot if… you double-majored in college. I’ve never been so glad not to be an over-achiever.”

Dully, Mina reaches for her shot, along with the girls she expects to join her, Jeongyeon and Tzuyu, and one she doesn’t: Momo. Her surprise is such that her hand almost pauses midair, and she has to force her muscles to follow through with the motion. After drinking her shot, Mina detects the instant jump in her level of inebriation and concludes that she’s about a shot or two away from the dizzy/nauseous phase of her drunkenness.

“Okay...” Across the table from Mina, Momo begins her turn with an excited smile, and Mina finds herself fighting back against the involuntary squeeze around her heart. Momo unfolds her paper and then breaks into a small chuckle of disbelief. “Take a shot if you’re gay.” Jeongyeon, Sana, Jihyo, and Dahyun, all impassively reach for a glass while Mina relaxes with relief; Momo grabs a glass as well, but then goes on to read, nearly laughing now, “take _two_ if you’re bi.”

Nayeon and Chaeyoung gasp immediately, while Mina and Tzuyu both register slack-jawed expressions of scandal, and instead of sympathy, all the four of them receive from their other friends is cheerful mocking laughs and nudges.

“Who wrote those little papers? Was this game made so Mina and I would pass out?” Tzuyu inquires earnestly, as Nayeon begrudgingly taps her shot glass against Mina’s, and they swallow down their first shots in sync. 

The second of the shots is Mina’s last one, thankfully; a joyously drunk Nayeon decides they should all watch raw footage from her latest, yet-unreleased suspense film. Even though everyone offers exaggerated groans of boredom and Sana comments that she’s watched Nayeon’s movies so many times that she feels as though she lives inside movie theaters, everyone still assents and makes their way to the cinema room. 

Two hours later, Sana, Jihyo, Jeongyeon, and Chaeyoung are enthusiastically embroiled in a karaoke “duet-off” and Mina is crossing a low-lit hallway towards the bathroom, tightly controlling the unsteadiness that tempts her to lean against the walls. Her eyes sweep through the walls, gaze sticking to pictures she’s always enjoyed seeing: shots of Nayeon and Mina’s [early SM years](https://78.media.tumblr.com/340272a9511c7d3593f628a8ddfc89d6/tumblr_pd97v0EVuY1vymbnlo6_250.jpg) in cheerleading, or of [sleepovers](https://78.media.tumblr.com/d276cbb6ad8b6d20cef927f6f1ab37b6/tumblr_pfcdjdfbAv1ryyzom_1280.jpg) they all had just before the seniors graduated—and yes, she always deliberately blinds herself to every picture of [her and Momo](https://78.media.tumblr.com/5276192ac46f04bbea449fbdfee3626e/tumblr_oe0rawL9yL1rnk2vho8_400.jpg), but she doesn’t today.

When she catches sight of the one picture she’s never quite been able to really look at, she pauses. And looks. It’s a shot Jeongyeon had snapped of [Nayeon and Momo](https://78.media.tumblr.com/48b902d5db3ccca6fbf555e77946843c/tumblr_penew1cWFW1ryyzom_1280.jpg) on their trip to Switzerland, embarked two weeks after Mina and the other juniors had graduated from high school and the seniors had concluded their first year of college. Mina remembers receiving news of their travels and the subsequent painful discomfort inside her chest, like she had an itch in a place she couldn’t reach, and then asking, why? and Nayeon’s voice reaching her with an unrecognizable melancholy to answer, because I owe Momo. Mina didn’t ask anything else.

As she washes her hands, Mina peers out the wooden-framed window in the bathroom, at the vast expanse of the ocean facing this house in the darkness of this night, and fueled wholly by instinct, she exits the house. Her feet sink into the soft, chilled sand with her first tentative steps, and it feels like disappearing inside a half memory of an old dream. It’s been more than a year since she last walked on a beach like this, and it’s the combination of everything around her—the salty, moist breeze caressing her skin, the crash-and-roll song of the waves syncopating her breaths—that has her taking a couple more steps until she’s sitting down on the sand, water bottle in hand and bleary stare fixed at the otherworldly immensity in front of her.

It’s almost enough to soothe all the frayed and inflamed edges of her wounds. It has her eyes following the foamy edges of a wave lapping at the shore, retreating and disappearing. It almost makes her forget why she didn’t want to come here today.

Momo.

Momo.

There are parts of her that she hates, has always hated, that Momo liked anyway. No one else has ever gotten the chance to like those parts after Momo; Mina never showed them to anyone else.

She really did forget how to pretend Momo doesn’t exist. Maybe she never knew how to do it.

Momo.

Momo.

She focuses on it again, the place where wave meets sand and Momo’s feelings might one day meet her own.

Momo.

Momo.

She doesn’t want to carry this feeling around anymore, but this name...

This name.

Momo.

Her heart beats this name, still.

“Mina?” 

She turns. It’s Momo, of course, scarcely more visible than a silhouette in the nightfall. There was an old joke everyone would tell that Mina and Momo had installed some kind of GPS locator inside each other, which would explain why they could always find one another in crowds, why they were never more than five feet apart. 

“Hi.”

Momo plops down next to her in a movement wobbly enough that Mina nods to herself, yes, we’re both drunk. This is a bad idea. The half-foot distance between them is heavy with the things that aren’t there, but should be.

“You’re too drunk to go into the water.”

She wasn’t planning on doing that, but she argues back, just because. “I’m a great swimmer.”

“You are,” Momo readily agrees, sipping from a beer Mina has just noticed she’s carrying with her. “You taught me.”

Right. She did. After laughing for a good ten minutes that Momo, seventeen-years-old, didn’t know how to float.

“You have a house around here, too, right?”

Wavering, Mina points to where she thinks is north. “Yes, somewhere up there.” The beachfront Myoui estate a quarter-mile away from here is massive and ominous and meant to be featured on architectural magazine covers, not be a home. Mina never goes there. 

There’s no place, really, that feels like home nowadays. 

“Hey, I didn’t know you had double-majored in college,” Mina comments, shooting for conversational but weak inside and unsure of whether they can just talk to each other without the world feeling like it should have ended. “You were only studying communication…” before we broke up, she almost says, trailing off—half out of the alcohol-created inability to string multiple words together, and half because it’d be terrible to finish that sentence. Thankfully, Momo doesn’t need it.

“Yeah, I decided to take sociology, too.”

College was… hard. Not the studying—that was easy. Everything else was not.

Mina doesn’t realize she verbalized that thought until Momo nods, pushing a foot deeper into the sand, a little sloppily, a little drunkenly.

“Yeah, it was tough.”

The words are sticking together inside her mouth but Mina says them anyway. “I was glad when it was over; I would never do it again.”

“I would do it over, if I could,” Momo affirms, as evenly as could be expected after she takes another swig from her bottle. “I wasn’t nice to people back then.”

That’s a hard statement to piece together. In every second Mina has ever known her, Momo has embodied the best of what a person could be. And Mina got to see up close how steadfast Momo was in her optimism and in her hard work, how it made everyone gravitate towards her instinctively. It meant so much to her that Momo could have had anyone she wanted, and picked her, flaws and all. 

“I just…” a disheartened Momo begins reluctantly, her words, too, a tiny bit slurred. “Hurt some people.” Mina follows the slumped-over curve of her back and the way she burrows her feet into the sand even further, like she’s trying to bury herself in this beach. “I looked for you… in people who weren’t you. Hurt people who didn’t deserve it.”

Oh. 

That’s…

…kind of what Mina did. Well, not really. Same, but different.

“I only dated guys,” she blurts out clumsily and breathlessly, regretting the admission after the first syllable is out, “because I didn’t want to be reminded of you.”

“I’m glad you had the option.”

It takes Mina a second. The delay is the alcohol, her exhaustion, the ocean’s roar drowning out her thoughts, all working together. But she does understand, eventually. And then a pang inside her follows that understanding, and a wince follows _that_ , but she has no time to shrink back into the pain because Momo is horrified, suddenly.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry—Mina, I didn’t mean it like that—I wasn’t saying anything about you being bi—that didn’t sound like how I meant it—I’m so sorry—that’s not what I was saying—I didn’t mean to offend you—I didn’t hurt your feelings, right?—did I hurt you?”

Mina blinks back some of the blurriness from her inebriation, and against everything inside her telling her not to say this, to keep this locked in her chest as she has all these years—because this, too, she’s going to regret—she still says it. “No, you’ve only ever hurt me once.” The words that have for so long weighed, ton-like, on her tongue, they float effortlessly out of her now. “When you broke up with me.”

Momo’s voice and gaze focus suddenly, as though instantly sobered. She looks and sounds calmer, albeit tired, when she responds, “you were leaving me,” but something underneath it scratches at Mina until her skin is red-raw. “Well, you _did_ leave me. First.”

Mina’s breath catches.

It feels like they’ve been transported to opposite ends of the ocean. Like they’re standing on their respective shores, divided by an endlessness of water so deep and overwhelming that Mina thinks, am I going to die here, while thinking, knowing, and being absolutely certain of nothing else, except this person looking back at me?

Mina waits for her lungs to fill themselves up again.

Then, Nayeon squeezes herself ungracefully between them; Mina and Momo promptly scoot over on the sand to make room.

“Have I told you guys,” a loopy, cheery Nayeon semi-garbles, lipstick slightly smudged (indisputable evidence of Jeongyeon’s kisses), and here’s the answer to the question of who’s the drunkest person in this party, “that I’m so happy you two made up?” True to her nature, Nayeon seems overwhelmed by emotion, and Mina knows she’s going to start crying onto their shoulders. “I love you guys _so much_. You two are just—I just love you guys, and I’m so happy you’re here, getting along!”

Across from everything between them—Nayeon, the ocean, and five years—Mina glances at Momo, while Momo looks back at her, too.

She thinks, she knows, she’s absolutely certain.

-

**THE PAST**

Let the record show that Momo does not start out the week _wanting_ to commit a crime. 

-

Early Monday morning, every junior and senior student at JYP High watches an advisory video broadcast from the school administration, concerning a special ceremony scheduled to occur at the main courtyard during the 20-minute break that takes place after second period and before third period. The ‘JeongMoSaDaChae’ text group chat brightens into activity immediately, and despite her own reluctance to tempt her statistics’ professor detection skills, a curious Momo peeks down at her phone anyway.

 **[JeongTheAmazing | 8:05]** Sana why is the principal having a random ceremony  
**[ChaeChaeChae | 8:05]** Did you guys see the big curtain thing hanging over the front of the auditorium this morning?  
**[Sanake | 8:06]** I have no idea what’s going on  
**[Sanake | 8:06]** no one from the student council got a heads-up on this  
**[Dubu | 8:06]** I saw the curtain and I figured they’re remodeling?  
**[Dubu | 8:06]** the auditorium is like a 100 years old and the paint is peeling off the walls

The sound of a man pointedly clearing his throat jolts Momo, and she instantly shoves her phone back under her desk and trains her face into her very best expression of innocence.

At the conclusion of second period, Momo and Sana join the inquisitive crowd heading to the courtyard. The stark division between the JYP and SM students hasn’t gotten even slightly better, despite the passing of the weekend. Momo worries that the rivalry will interfere with Mina’s charity project and hopes fervently she’s wrong, but there are still enough snarled complaints (“they’re just rich snobs—do they think they fucking _own_ this place or something,” she picks up from one JYP student) and insults murmured under breaths (“I can’t wait until our school is restored so we can leave this trash can of a campus” she hears from an SM student) to make clear that the school is nowhere close to being fully integrated.

That tension is clearly reflected in how the courtyard is ultimately occupied five minutes later: the very natural division between juniors and seniors at each half of the area, along with an additional, unnatural division inside each age group between JYP and SM students. The distance each faction is keeping from one another is downright alarming, and a noticeable, staticky undercurrent of turmoil has Momo uneasy with the possibility of a campus-wide brawl.

As it happens, the only two JYP students who enter the courtyard premises with SM students are Jeongyeon, who’s halfway through an eyeroll while she and Im Nayeon dully march to the spot Momo is sharing with Sana, and Dahyun, who walks towards the other juniors on the opposite half of the area, talking animatedly with Chou Tzuyu. While Sana is following the latter scene with ill-hidden horror, Momo turns to Jeongyeon’s approach and isn’t surprised to find that she and Im are squabbling, as their usual.

“I was young and optimistic once,” Jeongyeon is muttering darkly to a bored, disdainful Im, “with dreams and a bright future ahead of me. And then you came to this school.”

In response, Im makes an impatient motion in Jeongyeon’s general direction. “You know what happened here? God decided that a _headache_ should take human form. And so, you were born.”

“Well, at least I was born—you were _summoned_. From the _depths of hell_.”

The bickering continues with no end in sight, with Im scoffing, “every conversation with you feels like a _hostage situation_ ,” and Jeongyeon is groaning with annoyance something about how listening to Im should be considered a form of torture, even as they stand shoulder-to-shoulder with no sign of physical discomfort. While everyone waits for the commencement of the ceremony, Momo notes Sana’s furiously-paced texting beside her, takes the liberty of peering over the girl’s phone, and then almost laughs when she reads the conversation in progress.

 **[Sanake | 10:04]** Dahyun! first Myoui Mina and now Chou Tzuyu?? stop getting along with the enemy!  
**[Dubu | 10:04]** but they’re really nice :(  
**[Sanake | 10:05]** Chou is Park Jihyo’s girlfriend!  
**[Sanake | 10:05]** you know, the Park Jihyo who hates *your* girlfriend?  
**[Dubu | 10:05]** :(((((((

Dahyun sends a hastily-captured selfie of her pout and Sana tilts the screen in Momo’s direction, sharing the sight with her in disbelief.

 **[Sanake | 10:05]** stop being cute!  
**[Sanake | 10:06]** (I love you you’re perfect please have a great day)  
**[Dubu | 10:06]** :))))))

Sana pockets her phone away and asks an amused Momo with aggravation, “can you and Dahyun kindly remember what school you go to? The two sides are about to start fighting any day now and I’m trying to protect you.”

Just then, the last dozen students arrive at the courtyard, and across the near-hundred students separating them, Momo spots Mina and Park Jihyo. Mina, too, appears to perform a quick scan of the crowd; when she meets Momo’s eye she breaks into the happy, adorable smile that Momo hasn’t seen her send anyone else, yet. Momo doesn’t know how to stop herself from smiling back, and it’s not that she wants to—it’s just that Sana is watching her with an unreadable look and these are the times when Momo wishes she knew how to control her feelings a little better, wishes she knew how to at least momentarily hide or pack them away.

She promptly swipes the smile off her face and focuses on the podium at the auditorium’s entrance, behind which are a few of the JYP High faculty and members of the district administration. Momo heeds the first half-minute of the introductory note from the principal (“good morning, students, staff, and faculty”) and then begins to tune out every other word out of sheer boredom, idly inspecting the zipper of her jacket instead and then smiling to herself when she remembers Mina wearing it.

And then one word from the speech catches her attention: Mina’s last name. Immediately, she glances up to the podium, just in time to hear “and it is our great privilege to acknowledge the Myoui family and their generous donation towards the renovation of the JYP campus, through a small token of our appreciation.”

There’s barely any time for Momo to attempt to piece together what the hell the principal is talking about. A second later, the man is proudly pulling down a rope connected to the curtain hanging from the auditorium’s façade, unveiling an addition to the building’s sign: five new metal letters gleaming against the wall, affixed to the space preceding the pre-existing ‘AUDITORIUM’ letters: ‘MYOUI’. 

Holy shit.

Momo blanches; listens to simultaneous gasps from both Sana and Im Nayeon. Her jaw slacks and her eyes widen automatically in response to the purest rush of horror she’s ever felt.

Oh, no.

“Welcome, students, to our soon-to-be renovated Myoui Auditorium.”

_No no no no no_

A relatively short moment of silence follows the man’s enthusiastic announcement. Momo’s eyes dart to Mina immediately, and catch sight of a thoroughly aghast girl still staring at the sign bearing her name. Then, an eruption of furious chatter fills the entire courtyard.

“What the _fuck_ —”

“—is this a fucking joke—”

“—the hell does Myoui Mina think she is—”

“Thank you; you are all dismissed,” the oblivious principal concludes. Momo hears Sana hiss panickedly, “oh my God—everyone _is_ going to fight!” but Momo wastes no time squeezing herself through the angry, dispersing crowd to get to Mina.

When she reaches the place she last saw her, however, only Park Jihyo and Chou Tzuyu are there—fielding off hostile comments from JYP students and puzzled inquiries from SM students—and Mina is nowhere in sight.

It’s not quite a rational section of her brain that yanks her muscles into action then; it’s something that’s half instinct and half gut-feeling, and before Momo has actually thought about where she’s going, she’s already crouching down and side-stepping ground-reaching branches, swatting away leaves and thorns. And that’s where she finds Mina: at the delinquent spot, fists clenched at her sides, visibly upset, eyes closed and head tilted up to the horizon.

“Hey,” Momo calls tentatively, careful not to startle the girl. When she steps into the clearing, the warm light greets her and a gentle breeze cools her flushed skin. “You okay?”

Her heart does this terrible tumbling maneuver inside her when Mina gives her a tense half-smile.

“You know, I don’t talk to my parents very often,” she comments in a tone that would have sounded neutral and off-handed, if Momo didn’t already know how strained Mina’s emotions are in that part of her life. “I did talk to them on the phone this weekend, though. They asked how things were going in the new school, and I just… mentioned that some of the JYP buildings are smaller than the SM ones. And then they make this donation, and the district decides to thank them by putting our name _on the auditorium_.”

Instinctively, Momo’s feet drag her closer to Mina, as though her entire body has honed in to the sound of her voice. 

“I’m really sorry. This will blow over.” 

Momo’s reassurance is not as firm as she means it to be, and Mina probably notices. “I don’t think it will,” she disagrees.

“People will get used to it,” Momo insists, less and less certain of her own statement, unsure of why she’s still trying. 

“Someone’s already asked me whether I’m going to buy the whole school so I can put my name on the other buildings.”

She has to fix this. Somehow.

Her mind is barreling off in that direction—how can she make this better, what can she do—and she responds with what she acknowledges immediately is the worst thing she could have said.

“It’s just a name.”

It’s not—it never has been, not for Mina. And Momo knows this.

A sorrowful shadow chases away the last remnant of the weak smile Mina had been keeping for Momo’s benefit, and Momo watches helplessly as Mina sighs and makes a small gesture to the classrooms, effectively ending the conversation. “I guess we should go.”

Momo’s hand shoots out, takes gentle hold of Mina’s own, and she would be nauseated by panic at her poorly-planned (or, rather, _un_ planned) reaction, if it hadn’t softened Mina’s expression—that seizes her attention instead.

“We’re already late for third period. We should just stay,” Momo posits, forcing a matter-of-fact shrug and not yet letting go.

She’s going to fix this. She just needs to time to think.

“You’re suggesting we cut class? You really are the worst mentor here,” Mina says with a raised eyebrow but a mollified smile, too. In a moment that couldn’t be more inopportune, Momo’s body chooses that exact moment to react to the shape, weight, and temperature of Mina’s hand inside hers, with a noticeable shiver that would have just about killed Momo with embarrassment, if Mina hadn’t completely misinterpreted it.

She’s concerned when she asks, “are you cold?” as she reaches inside her backpack. The absence of contact is followed by a perfectly-balanced rush of relief and disappointment, but Momo has no time to dwell on that, because Mina is already outstretching a green and black cheerleading jacket that looks terribly expensive and smells sweet and fragrant, as though Mina had recently worn it. “I think it’s your turn now to wear another squad’s jacket,” she suggests, beaming pleased and excited when Momo grins and puts it on, having decided not to mention that her own JYP jacket is inside her backpack. “It looks… really nice on you.”

There are some small but notable style and fabric differences between the JYP uniform and this one, and Momo fights a blush when she glances down at the finely sewn details and spots the ‘MYOUI M.’ embroidery on the breast section. “So I guess I’m Myoui Mina now. Minus a few moles here and there.” Her lame joke actually pulls a laugh from Mina, and Momo adds, encouraged, “I should just draw them on. Well, not the face ones, but the most important one for sure.” When she points to the tiny dot on Mina’s abdomen, she’s rewarded with another laugh, brighter and freer now, that makes Momo wonder fleetingly that this is probably what a sunrise would sound like, if it made a sound.

“If that’s all you’re missing,” Mina quips lightly, hand disappearing once again inside her backpack, only to re-emerge with a marker. “That can be fixed, you know.”

Momo glances down at the narrow strip of exposed skin on her midriff, then back up again to the curve and glimmer of Mina’s smile, expectant and teasing and a little mischievous.

It’s the easiest thing Momo has ever agreed to, she thinks. “Well, I guess you should fix it, then.” 

And then Mina, obviously excited, is bending down slightly in front of her until she’s eye-level with Momo’s abdomen, and yes, Momo registers keenly the gentle press of the cold tip of the marker and the even gentler ghost-like brushing of Mina’s hand, but what almost makes her lose consciousness is the moment a self-satisfied Mina raises herself up again to face her, nearer than Momo anticipated, than she could have prepared herself for.

“Okay, I guess you’re me, now. A better version, though, I think.”

It’s… strange. 

It’s strange, being in this space with Mina where she _knows_ what she’s feeling, _knows_ exactly what it means, and doesn’t _want_ anything, except to stay put. The sensation is akin to standing waist-deep in the ocean, as far and deep as she’s ever dared go with every other person she’s ever liked, while Mina is the waves of the water, warm and inviting, lapping up rhythmically in sync with her heartbeats, rising inch by inch up her body. The nearness of Mina pulls at her, makes Momo itch to step towards the horizon. Momo is going to drown in these feelings one day, she already knows.

It should terrify her. But it doesn’t. She actually can’t wait for it to happen. 

It’s so, so easy to let this feeling carry her wherever it wants to.

“Do you want to go over some squad stuff?” Momo doesn’t take her eyes off Mina—she couldn’t, nothing could possibly make her want to look away—but the uniform reminds her.

Mina’s lingering enthusiasm carries over into her nod; “yes, that’s a good idea.”

A minute later, they’re facing one another, sitting cross-legged and knee-to-knee on the grass, browsing through Momo’s music library, sharing headphones while on a mission to find the perfect song for their next routine. Watching Mina like this is kind of enthralling in its own way; she hums along quietly and happily to the songs she knows and listens intently to the ones she doesn’t, and Momo keeps showing her new songs just to keep watching the charming changes in her expression. Each time Mina laughs in a different way, each time a particularly surprising note or beat or lyric kicks up a corner of her mouth, it’s like Momo is emerging from a pleasant fog only to get pulled into another one. 

When it’s Mina’s turn, she suggests a remixed version of a track from an up-and-coming k-pop group whose first notes have Momo laughing because the song is _awful_. 

“Has anyone ever told you that your taste in music is terrible?” Momo mumbles teasingly, and Mina flushes a particularly endearing shade of pink but shoots back easily, “no; people don’t usually lie to me,” and Momo laughs at that, too. 

Mina mentions a specific foot sequence that she’s been meaning to try, and, without any sort of forewarning, grabs Momo’s hand and lays it, palm up, on top of her own. The sudden and unexpected contact stirs up a hot jolt of energy through the expanse of her skin and it takes an enormous amount of effort not to react to it. 

“This is just something we used to do at SM,” a nervous Mina clarifies, perhaps after picking up Momo’s surprise. “When we were in class and couldn’t show each other an idea for a routine; we’d do it like this.” Momo finally understands what she means when she watches Mina prop the index and middle fingers of her free hand on Momo’s palm, as though her hand were a person stepping onto a dance floor. “If we did a foot sweep like this,” she demonstrates with a small move of her index finger, her touch feather-light and careful in a way that has Momo’s suddenly-erratic heartbeat ringing in her ear, “during this exact note,” she continues, and there’s a near-imperceptible waver in her voice even though she’s focused so intently on her hand and Momo’s, “it would segue perfectly into the steps you showed me last time.”

To better picture the addition Mina is proposing, Momo closes her eyes then, and imagines the entire sequence in her mind: the motions that precede it, its placement within the music, and how everything would appear when performed by sixteen cheerleaders. She likes it immediately, and is already smiling when she opens her eyes to give Mina her approval and suggest that she teach this to the squad. But there’s a half-second moment that occurs right after that, a half-second during which her sight welcomes back the light and color of the day and clicks Mina into focus, catching her as she’s watching Momo with a look that’s like fascination or confusion or both or something else entirely; a half-second that spreads that familiar heat through Momo’s stomach and upwards, to press against her ribcage. A half-second that makes that painted-on mark on her skin throb, and that makes Momo wonder, is she imagining this?

She never gets a chance to inquire further—not that she ever would—because that half-second ends, and Mina snaps her gaze away so swiftly that it’s almost as though she never looked at Momo at all. 

And then, moving them along even further from that moment, their chosen choreography song ends and another one begins that is noticeably amusing to Mina. Her hand begins to burn discreetly again with the hyperawareness of every part of its surface that is in contact with Mina, but Momo finds the energy to ask, “do you not like this song?”

“I do, it’s just… we used to have a routine choreographed to this song, and it reminded me of our cheer captain at the time,” Mina explains with a light-hearted chuckle. “Her name was Seulgi and she was our captain before she graduated and Nayeon took over. I had a huge crush on her, and everyone knew about it and made fun of me. Then, as you know, I dated the _next_ cheer captain, Nayeon.” Everything Momo learned during her Friday misfortune of accidentally overhearing Mina’s conversation with Im and Park suddenly makes a lot more sense. “So the jokes were just _endless_ after that—people saying I have a type.”

Honestly, Momo doesn’t actually mean to ask. But some unhinged part of her brain does, because the question leaps out of her anyway.

“So _is_ that your type? Cheer captains?”

Instantly, Mina freezes, transparent with her thought process when her eyes widen and she seems to catch her breath.

In the space between one second and another, Momo worries that all the blood in her body has been replaced by liquid fear. Mina is going to say, are you asking what I think you’re asking, and Momo won’t have any way of answering, because there’s no dignified way of explaining that ever since they met, something’s been floating in Momo’s chest that used to be shapeless and nameless but every time Momo spends more than two seconds around Mina, she’s surer and surer that one day she’s going to disappear inside this feeling, and she can’t say that, it’s too embarrassing, it’s—

“I think I—” Mina begins, cheeks pink but looking paled everywhere else, but that same song Momo hadn’t been listening to, had barely noticed was even playing to begin with, it stops abruptly and is replaced by the distinct blare of a text alert. “Oh. That’s… Nayeon’s number,” a puzzled Mina mumbles, as Momo’s eyes follow the same path down to the screen. “I wonder if she texted me and I never replied and now she’s trying to reach you.”

Frowning and momentarily distracted from the stupor that had enveloped her just a second prior, Momo lifts her phone from her lap and begins to read off a longer message than she expected, as Mina types something into her own phone.

 **[Unknown number | 11:09]** Mina isn’t in her third period class and neither are you and let me tell you that if you’ve kidnapped her or locked her up somewhere or are pranking her in some way I WILL MURDER YOU AND NO ONE WILL FIND YOUR BODY

Momo automatically sighs and grumpily saves Im’s number.

 **[Hirai Momo | 11:10]** I’m guessing this is Im Nayeon  
**[The Devil | 11:10]** Yes and also the last person you will see before your demise if I find out you’ve said anything bad to Mina about her name on the auditorium  
**[The Devil | 11:10]** p.s. is that seriously the name you’re saving my number under  
**[The Devil | 11:10]** if you think I’m going to sink to your level and also give you a stupid name you’re absolutely right  
**[the *other* felon | 11:11]** I’m with Mina right now  
**[the *other* felon | 11:11]** I’m trying to distract her from the mess actually  
**[the *other* felon | 11:11]** you know I don’t have a criminal record right  
**[the *other* felon | 11:12]** and how did you get my number  
**[Im Nayeon aka the Devil | 11:12]** Yoo finally decided to make herself useful  
**[Im Nayeon aka the Devil | 11:12]** that name is NOT BETTER Hirai  
**[Im Nayeon aka the Devil | 11:12]** the whole school is in crisis  
**[Im Nayeon aka the Devil | 11:13]** Keep Mina away for now  
**[the *other* felon | 11:13]** I will  
**[Im Nayeon | 11:13]** Is she okay  
**[Hirai Momo | 11:13]** Not really  
**[Hirai Momo | 11:13]** but I’ll fix this

“I replied to her… she heard I wasn’t in class so she was looking for me,” Mina reveals, tucking her phone away. “The JYP and SM students are really not getting along now,” she amends forlornly. “This auditorium thing made things so much worse.”

Momo nods her understanding but then has to peer down at her phone again when she notices Jeongyeon’s text messages, too.

 **[JeongTheAmazing | 11:13]** did the demon text you  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 11:13]** I was under a threat of dismemberment that actually sounded real so I had to give her your number  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 11:13]** and she was legit worried about her friend  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 11:13]** like talking about filing a missing person report and getting a search party together kind of worried  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 11:14]** but I don’t know why she thinks you’re with her friend right now  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 11:14]** wait is she right? are you cutting class with Myoui?

And that... is a text she can’t answer, at least not at the moment. She hides her phone away as well and looks up just in time to catch on Mina’s features a flash of sadness so strong it makes her swallow hard.

“Don’t worry about the auditorium thing,” Momo assures Mina again, pushing back against the parts of her reason that currently beg to differ. “We’ll sort it out.”

“I wish people knew I don’t want my name there, either… it’s already everywhere else I go.”

The period will end soon and so will their temporary refuge, but Momo is certain—she’s going to fix this.

-

Fourth period is a blur, simultaneously dragging and rushing by. Momo’s head spins with potential ideas until her temples pound—how is she going to fix this? The image of the MYOUI plaque is almost branded on her eyelids by the time the period is over and the shrill of the bell brings about the lunch period. 

There seems to be one solution to this, but it’s so ridiculously outlandish and impossible, that Momo wonders if all this stress has made her delirious.

She debates it in a maddening whirlwind of considerations inside her mind: (1) this is the only way; (2) this can’t seriously be the only way; (3) she has to do this, for Mina; (4) is this a crime? (5) She’s going to commit a crime, isn’t she? (6) Yes, she’s totally going to commit a crime.

Barely registering the movement and buzz around her, Momo picks up a tray of the day’s spaghetti and meatball lunch, helps herself to generous pouring of tomato sauce and two breadsticks, and takes a seat at their customary table, facing a frazzled Sana and an absentminded Jeongyeon texting someone.

The apprehensive tension emanating from Sana is so marked that it calls Momo’s attention from her half-baked, terrible, awful, no-good plan.

“Sana, are you okay?”

Jeongyeon snaps her attention to Momo immediately, leaning back on their side of the bench so that her urgent ‘ABORT ABORT’ head-shake isn’t visible to Sana. In turn, Sana, who hasn’t touched a single piece of the meal sitting on her tray, lifts her gaze to Momo and appears to be a second away from breaking her utensils in a white-knuckled grip.

“We’ve had _two_ fights today between a JYP student and an SM student, and I had to talk one of the clubs into not organizing a protest to get the SM students kicked out,” she grits out as a reply. Then, after a deep and angrily-drawn breath, she adds, exasperated, “so if you or anyone else would like to take over my job for me, I’d welcome that, because let me tell you—it’s getting _really hard_ to make the two sides get along and not hate each other when your girlfriend has literally gotten her _name_ on one of our _buildings_.”

Momo stiffens at ‘girlfriend’ but forces her mind to rewind to the ‘two fights’ and ‘protest’ parts instead.

“It’s that bad?”

“It’s _worse_ than bad. And it’s only been two periods since our idiot principal had that ceremony.”

She notices her surroundings now; the storm-like atmosphere in the cafeteria, and the charged tension pinpricking the spaces between the students.

“Im has the worst ideas for the new uniforms,” Jeongyeon complains moodily after a second. “Look at the edit she made of our old uniforms.”

Outstretching her phone, Jeongyeon points to a particular portion of the screen that contains a picture of their blue and white set that’s been almost completely covered by red scratch marks meant to indicate suggestions (the annotation that says ‘this is just a hideous cut full stop’ picks at Momo’s patience). Momo’s eyes, however, wander to a string of texts above the picture.

 **[God’s One Mistake | 6:04]** I hope you have a terrible morning but before you die the horrible death you deserve I need you to send me your notes on the uniform design  
**[Queen of the Underworld | 6:10]** is it a hobby of yours to annoy me  
**[Queen of the Underworld | 6:10]** does it give your life meaning  
**[Queen of the Underworld | 6:10]** and yes here are my notes on that turd you call a uniform

Momo’s brows are drawn together automatically and she studies Jeongyeon’s idle expression when she pulls her phone back. “Um… you text Im Nayeon that early in the morning?”

“Yeah,” Jeongyeon replies with alarming indifference, “I start my mornings by talking to her so I know my day can’t get any worse than how it started.”

That lone question Momo had sprouts a dozen others. Disconcerted, Momo debates actually asking them—something like ‘are you aware that you text her before you even text any of us?’—but ends up with no time do so.

“Hi, Minatozaki, Yoo,” Mina materializes out of seemingly nowhere beside them, breathless and agitated. “Hi, Momo.” Momo is so surprised by her presence that she’s delayed in returning the greeting. “Minatozaki; I’m sorry to bother you. I just have a quick question. Is there a way to take down the new auditorium plaque?”

Momo gapes at the girl, alternating her focus to Sana when she, too, stares at Mina as though she might be hallucinating. Mina and her friends have never spoken before, Momo remembers suddenly—they know some peripheric details about one another, but this is the first time they’re actually exchanging words.

“Take… your name letters down from the auditorium?” At Mina’s immediate nod, Sana raises an eyebrow with confusion. “Um, you can petition the administration, but other than that... not legally, no.”

“So we can, illegally?” Mina risks; Sana would be appalled if she weren’t so taken aback, Momo can tell.

“I’m not sure I can have this discussion with a student,” she responds stiltedly, throwing a bewildered glance at Momo.

“Okay.” Mina is instantly absorbed in her own thoughts, eyes glazed over and affixed at something distant. She jolts back into awareness and forces a smile. “Right. Thank you. See you around, Momo.” Then, she’s evaporated away in purposeful steps out of the cafeteria.

Not legally, is what Sana said. That half-baked, terrible, awful, no-good plan slams into her thoughts again, and she spits the words out before her good sense decides to kick in as well.

“So, I was, um, thinking about that… about the way to take it down…” Momo ventures nervously, but Sana and Jeongyeon are still frowning at the empty space Mina vacated when she rushed off. 

“She doesn’t want her name there, either,” Sana mumbles in slow realization, and Momo is glad—she really is—that Sana has finally noticed what would have been so obvious to anyone who had a five-second conversation with Mina, but she trods on determinedly.

“You said there’s a way to do it illegally.”

Sana starts at the statement. “Well, yes; this is a public school so it’s called stealing, slash, larceny of government property, and it’s a crime.”

Bravery and recklessness—Momo is flooded by both.

“What if we tried… to do it… like, what if we took the letters…?”

At first, it seems as though both Sana and Jeongyeon believe Momo is joking. But as Momo watches the two of them with what she knows is anticipation and anxiety, that dismissive indifference becomes wide-eyed shock.

“Momo!” Sana hisses in a perfectly-measured mix of disbelief and outrage, “you want to steal the letters off the building??”

Momo’s timid nod only exacerbates Sana’s horror, and Jeongyeon chooses that exact moment to externalize her own reaction.

“YOU WANT TO _STEAL_ THE ACTUAL LETT—”

Momo jolts with alarm and immediately places a hand over Jeongyeon’s protesting mouth. “Oh my God, Jeong—do you want a loudspeaker so the other side of Seoul can hear you?”

Jeongyeon slaps her arm away and questions instantly, “are you _kidding_? I said last week that getting Im Nayeon to be your vice captain was the worst idea you’ve ever had, but scratch that— _this_ is it.”

“Momo, do you know what could happen if you get caught?” Sana queries, quieter but still horrified. “You could get charged with an actual crime. You’ve never even been to _detention_ and we might be visiting you in a juvenile detention center—which in case you didn’t know, is prison for young people—”

Recklessness. And bravery. 

And a bright smile and moles and the best laugh she’s ever heard.

(And also, _“I wish people knew I don’t want my name there, either… it’s already everywhere I go.”_ )

Momo swallows down the hard lump of uncertainty and plows on. “I won’t get caught if you guys help me.”

Now both Sana and Jeongyeon are examining her as though she’s displaying signs of a dangerous mental illness, and it’s Sana who retorts with disbelief, “how are we supposed to help you steal some metal letters off a 30-foot building?”

Momo answers easily, “you’re the student body president and you do building inspections so you have all the building blueprints.”

Quite abruptly, Jeongyeon looks ready to faint. “Oh. My. God. She’s actually serious about this.” Sana is still speechless so several seconds of silence thrum by tensely until Jeongyeon continues, aghast, “first, you signed up the cheerleaders for that charity thing without even asking anyone else in the squad. Then, you spend your entire weekend working and all you tell us is that it’s because you’re _saving up_ for something—coincidentally right after filming a commercial for a date auction—” oh, _crap_. Momo tried so hard to hide this but Jeongyeon knows her too well; Momo cringes _deeply_ , and wishes a sinkhole could open up directly underneath her so she can avoid the rest of this conversation; “—and now you want to commit a crime. For a girl!”

Sana’s voice kicks back into activity and Momo almost looks down at the floor, to double-check that she can’t _will_ a sinkhole into opening.

“You literally had one job, Momo. Sabotage Myoui Mina. Instead, you’re trying to get a date with her? And risking going to jail to make her happy? Just how gay are you?”

God. She should have just hired some freshmen to help her, instead of exposing herself to this level of ridicule and embarrassment.

“Um, first, that auction thing is for charity—Save the Children, to be more specific,” Momo begins awkwardly, face hot as though she’s stuck it in an open fire, “and second—you guys hate that her name is there, too. I want to do this for the greater good.”

“Your lying skills are still a disgrace; you want to do this for _Myoui_ ,” Jeongyeon retorts flatly, pointing a half-eaten breadstick in her direction accusingly. “I can’t believe you actually have a crush on the enemy—”

“Are we really calling them that—” Momo interjects, disheartened, but Jeongyeon has no patience to hear the end of it.

“Listen, Satan replaced my shower gel with car oil and stole my towel and clothes while I was showering this morning in the locker room, and I had to run out of my stall completely naked—”

“Oh, I was going to ask why you smell like a mechanic—” Sana mumbles in sudden understanding.

“—so yes, we’re still calling them the enemy.”

Now devoid of any hope, Momo slumps over dejectedly and resorts to poking the pile of meatball and spaghetti resting on her tray, sighing sadly and disinterestedly. She’s exhausted, suddenly. In very few times of her life has she ever been defeated, by anyone or anything. This feels like one of these times.

There’s no way to pull this off by herself, and Sana is right—if caught, anyone involved in this would be in terrible trouble. Momo can’t, in good conscience, convince some naïve younger students to commit a crime with her. That means this is an impossible endeavor, and God, why was she even dumb enough to think she could do this—

“You need more people to pull this off. A lot more than you think.”

Momo’s attention is snatched up. Jeongyeon is texting someone on her phone and Sana is mumbling, “we really need to learn how to say no to her sad puppy face, seriously. Why is it so hard?”

Oh my God. 

“You guys are going to help me?” Momo breathes out, overcome by relief, disbelief, and happiness.

“I’m texting Chaeyoung; I think she can help us with the surveillance cameras on all the buildings,” Jeongyeon explains, then turns to Momo’s stupidly overjoyed beam and shakes her head disapprovingly. 

Sana, watching her as well, grumbles with her own brand of disappointment, “I should have never been elected.”

-

It doesn’t seem like any new catastrophe will take place at the JYP campus when Momo, Jeongyeon, and Sana are exiting the cafeteria, 20 minutes before the conclusion of lunch period, to scope out the front of the auditorium and decide just how ambitious this endeavor is, and how many resources it’ll require.

It doesn’t seem like any new catastrophe will take place when the three of them are standing directly underneath the building façade, discreetly taking pictures of the letters and attempting to determine how large and heavy they actually are.

 **[DanceMochine | 12:24]** hey chae, did you get the pics I sent  
**[ChaeChaeChae | 12:25]** I DIDDDDDD  
**[ChaeChaeChae | 12:25]** WE ARE ACTUALLY GOING TO COMMIT A HEIST  
**[ChaeChaeChae | 12:25]** !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
**[Sanake | 12:26]** chae I would appreciate it if you didn’t get so excited about committing a crime and possibly going to jail  
**[Dubu | 12:26]** I can’t believe you’re actually going along with Momo’s plan  
**[Sanake | 12:26]** I can’t believe it either tbh  
**[Dubu | 12:26]** who are you and what have you done to my girlfriend  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 12:27]** Dubu you can’t say no to Momo’s sad face any better than we can so stop judging  
**[ChaeChaeChae | 12:27]** not to be that person but you realize you need more people right  
**[DanceMochine | 12:27]** yes but we can’t pull other innocent people into this so we’ll just have to make do with who we have I guess  
**[DanceMochine | 12:27]** and thank you guys for agreeing to be criminals with me  
**[JeongTheAmazing | 12:27]** if we get arrested I hope I’m your cell mate so I can beat you up  
**[Sanake | 12:27]** get in line jeong I have first dibs on punching momo  
**[DanceMochine | 12:27]** your words of love warm my heart uwu

It doesn’t seem like any new catastrophe will take place, but it does. 

The distinctive, absolutely deafening emergency alarm blares out through the entire campus, startling all three girls, who then exchange looks of concern. A student runs out of one of the buildings and they overhear what sounds like “cafeteria fight” and promptly begin to run towards the scene—curious, yes, but also duty-bound: most of the students in the cafeteria now should be the juniors, and the seniors are frequently called upon to assist in these scenarios. 

The three of them step into the cafeteria entrance and Momo wonders if an actual, honest-to-God mass murder has happened: the walls are streaked in red, the floors have large puddles of red as well, and the cafeteria’s chaotic hellscape is divided in half, each side barricaded off by flipped-over tables, occupied by something like 200 JYP and SM students screaming and flinging expletive-filled insults at one another. And then it dawns on her in a split second, that today’s lunch was spaghetti and meatballs, and that explains the blood-like crimson substance smeared and splatted on the walls and floors and practically every other surface of the building, and also what the students have taken to using as weapons. Momo dodges a projectile meatball hurled through the air—one of about two dozen, flying to and from each side like grenades and bullets, launched right back to their destinations by students swinging breadsticks as though they were baseball bats—and, out of the corner of her eye, catches sight of a team of security guards pulling some unidentified student from the apocalyptic zone. 

Sana is struck on the leg by an airborne spear-like breadstick, Jeongyeon slips on a pile of spaghetti, and then the cafeteria is stormed by the JYP security guard team and several teachers and staff members. The battle is quelled, and every student who participated in the spaghetti war has their name documented by a teacher and sentenced to a double-session of detention—a process that takes up the remainder of lunch period and the entirety of fifth period. Momo overhears that the sheer number of detention-bound students is so much greater than anything the school has ever seen or attempted to accommodate in its classrooms that the staff has decided to have one mass detention session in the auditorium. The principal, apparently one irregular heartbeat away from a stroke, orders every uninvolved student to continue on to attend sixth period, the last of the day, while every other student (that is, the war insurgents) is allowed an extra ten minutes to shower and change into a non-sauce-splattered uniform before resuming sixth period as well. 

For half of the school’s clubs—this being the case for the cheerleaders—sixth period on Mondays is reserved for club gatherings. Thus, Momo numbly makes her way to the empty auditorium inside which the squad will meet, unable to quite come up with an appropriate reaction for the scale of destruction she just witnessed in the cafeteria. 

On the way there, she crosses and merges paths with a stone-faced Im Nayeon, headed to the same meeting. 

“You should cancel this,” Im murmurs, abundantly displeased. “Today is not the best day to have the two squads practice together for the first time.” 

A valid concern, yes—Momo sighs with frustration and absentmindedly grabs her jacket from her backpack. “I understand, but at the same time, I don’t want them to think it’s okay to not get along—we’re one squad now.” 

She feels a sure grip around her forearm and stops, throwing Im a quizzical look. 

“Are you seriously wearing Mina’s jacket?” 

The fast spread of panic pulls her eyes down immediately and she cringes at her mistake. 

Crap. She completely forgot to return this. 

“Um… she let me borrow it…” she mumbles, flushing hotly under Im’s revulsion, practically ripping the jacket off her body, such is her haste. That same haste makes her careless in her movements, so she ends up accidentally lifting her shirt a bit higher than usual halfway through her movements, and because the forces of the universe are not on her side today, Im notices that, too, with a repulsed gasp. 

“Oh my God—tell me that’s a new mole you just happened to grow overnight, and not—you know what? I’m not even going to ask.” 

Thankfully, she indeed does not ask. And by the time the two of them reach the auditorium, Momo’s mind has reverted to her anxious thoughts from before. She registers blankly that only half the squad is present (Jeongyeon, she knows, volunteered to assist in the clean-up, and Dahyun is in the infirmary because some tomato sauce got into her eye, so their absences were expected), and really wishes she didn’t have to ask where everyone else is. 

Im stands beside her, reading something off her phone that apparently horrifies her, and a drained Momo makes an attempt to mentally count just how many members are missing, noticing unemotionally that five JYP cheerleaders are standing on one side of the court, arms crossed in an unwelcoming stance, while three SM cheerleaders face them on the opposite side, wearing matching glares of animosity. 

Inwardly, she groans at having to mediate their hostility, and draws a deeper breath than necessary to provide some kind of conciliatory words to the hatred-torn group before her. 

Then, she notices it: Mina isn’t here. 

Immediately, she turns to Im. “Where’s Mina?” 

Im is predictably annoyed by her question. “I thought you knew that she was evacuated from the cafeteria by her security team. A meatball hit her on the stomach and the tomato sauce made it look like she had a gunshot wound, so her guards did their usual overreaction bit, stormed in, and pulled her out.” Momo reaches for her phone inside her backpack and is promptly dissuaded by Im’s flatly-delivered, “she doesn’t have her phone on her right now so she won’t get back to you for a while.” 

Jesus Christ. Momo’s nascent headache becomes a full-fledged throb in her temples and she resists the urge to massage it off. 

“Okay, we need to get this meeting done with,” Momo murmurs, more to herself than anyone else. “Guys, as everyone knows, we’re going to start practicing our new routines for next season,” she announces with as much authority she can muster when the divided sides of the squad are still throwing threatening glowers out of the corner of their eyes. “The SM routine choreographer and I have been collaborating, and Myoui Mina will be teaching you guys the new routine.” 

There are instant grumbles of dissatisfaction erupting from the JYP side of the court, while the SM side, in response, seems to take offense to their reaction. 

“What’s wrong with Mina teaching the new routine?” a defiant SM cheerleader challenges, while a JYP cheerleader is rolling her eyes and commenting with irritation, “—it’s not any use arguing, it’s not like any of us are buying our way through high school—” 

It truly is like watching a lit match be tossed into a pile of gunpowder; Momo’s reflex isn’t quick enough to spurt her into action before Im has marched decisively to confront the JYP group. 

“—the fuck did you just say?” 

Momo lunges forward and grabs Im by the corner of her jacket. “Im—” 

“You’re lucky Mina wasn’t here to hear your pea-brained attempt at an insult or I’d make a _rug_ out of you and decorate one of my many living rooms.” 

_Crap crap crap crap_

Momo immediately pushes Im to the side, calling out behind her, “okay, you’re all dismissed! See you tomorrow!” after realizing with dismay and regret that Im’s concern was well-founded—tempers are still too raw to have any sort of meeting with both factions. 

Before Im has a chance to unleash her demonic fury on her, Momo preempts the attack by conceding, “yes, I know—you were right, and that was disrespectful and I’ll handle it appropriately.” 

Fuming, Im shoots back, “get a hold of your squad before I do it for you,” which… Momo is famously even-tempered and all, but there _are_ things that can hit a nerve, and disparaging comments about her capabilities as captain is one of those things. 

“I’m not going to start threatening my squad members with violence and death to keep them in line.” 

Im scoffs out a laugh that pokes at Momo’s last bit of patience. “You’re too soft, Hirai.” 

Gritting her teeth, Momo drawls out, “and you need to stop questioning the way I do things.” 

“Oh, you mean the way you’re not doing _anything_?” Im throws her arms above her in exasperation. “You think Mina doesn’t know about the jokes and insults people have been saying all day because her last name is on this fucking building?” The question feels aimed at something Momo can’t quite pin down, but a wave of aggravation washes over her nonetheless at the implication that she isn’t well-aware of what Mina is going through. “And now you’re letting members of her so-called squad get away with talking crap behind her back? I’ll stop questioning you when you start doing your job,” Im concludes harshly, and that last frail bit of patience Momo had so tenuously been preserving completely evaporates. 

“That’s exactly it,” an irritated Momo asserts, taking an emphatic, almost confrontational step forward. “ _I’m_ the captain. It’s _my_ job. That squad—” she points to where the cheerleaders, JYP and SM alike, had last been gathered, “—it’s not yours. So stop acting like it belongs to you.” 

At this, Im narrows her eyes and then takes a step forward of her own, welcoming Momo’s challenge as she reduces the anger-filled gap between them. “Are we still talking about the squad or did we start talking about Mina?” 

Instantly, Momo feels disarmed, poked at some vulnerable place she hadn’t known existed. Her mind seems to have been emptied out of any possible retorts to Im’s taunt, but her frown apparently dampers Im’s own flared temper at least somewhat, because she adds tiredly, “when you decide it’s time to handle the clusterfuck going on, let me know, Hirai.” 

“I’m already handling it.” 

Her wince is _immediate_ —she really, really, did not mean to blurt that out. 

“Well,” she corrects, stewing in regret, “my friends and I are.” 

Im is obviously intrigued but also incredulous. “What do you mean?” 

Gathering her courage to divulge that half-baked, terrible, no-good plan takes a massive amount of energy, and she doesn’t allow herself to picture her friends’ look of outrage if they could see her on this moment, revealing this plan to ‘the enemy.’ 

“I’m going to steal the Myoui letters.” 

“You’re going to do _what_ —” 

“You can help, if you want,” Momo interrupts nervously. “We need more people.” 

Im undergoes several expressions—surprise, doubt, confusion—before settling on suspicion. “Listen, if you’re actually just trying to humiliate her some more by putting the letters in _another_ building or something—” 

“Yes, I know—you’ll decapitate me or whatever.” 

Apparently, Im appreciates her cheeky response, because she unsuccessfully bites back a smile. “Fine. We’re in agreement then. Let’s steal those letters.” 

\- 

Not that this entire plan is anything but a bad idea, but it’s not a good idea, either, to give Im Nayeon the address to the Son residence so she can join the first meeting of Momo’s proposed mission. That becomes clear when Momo has just arrived at the location, a bit late, and then watches with some mild alarm as Im Nayeon steps out of her limousine with Park Jihyo and Chou Tzuyu in tow. 

Momo has barely opened her mouth to object to the presence of the other two, when Im interrupts impatiently, “you have your crew and I have mine.” 

It becomes even clearer that this was not a good idea when Momo rings the bell to Chaeyoung’s house and, after she opens the door, Im Nayeon quips with a frown, “who’s the midget?” 

“Hey!” Chaeyoung instantly protests, as Momo herself is turning to Im with outrage. 

“I’m assuming you’re Son Chaeyoung, and you live here,” Park rushes to state, all politeness and polish while Im is rolling her eyes at Momo’s glare. “Thank you for your kindness and hospitality, and please forgive my very rude friend.” 

It becomes even clearer still when Chaeyoung moodily leads the four of them to the basement, and Jeongyeon and Sana spot the SM newcomers’ descent through the stairwell with not-at-all-veiled horror and aversion. 

“What the hell are they doing here?!” and “Momo! What the f—” are both uttered before Im steps authoritatively off the stairs and onto the center of the room to announce dryly, “did you two really think you were going to pull off a heist involving my best friend’s last name, and not invite any of her actual friends?” 

Anticipating that another variation of the food fight this morning might take place here, Momo advances to the tension-filled space between her friends and Mina’s. 

“We’re all here because we have a mission in common,” Momo begins, doing her absolute best to sound certain and confident, and not intimidated by what she’s just initiated. “And there are a lot of risks, so we need to work together well so everything works out without any issues.” 

“What risks are we talking about?” Im inquires, sounding honestly curious. “Is it illegal or something?” 

Simultaneously, Sana and Park respond incredulously, “larceny of government property?!” and then, also in sync, turn to face one another, acknowledging the other’s response with begrudging respect. 

“Well, if we go to jail, Mina’s family can just buy the jail,” Im shrugs, and behind her, a disheartened Chou raises a hand to massage her temple. 

“Nayeon, that’s not how the criminal justice system works and you know it,” Park reprehends, taking a seat at the only empty sofa, Chou following her automatically. Perhaps due to Im’s utter (and mildly amusing) lack of awareness of the gravity of the risk they’re about to undertake, the atmosphere in the basement seems to considerably lighten following this exchange. Without much thought, Momo advances to the nearest vacant seat, squeezing herself between Chaeyoung and Dahyun, and realizes belatedly that the only free spot she left for Im happens to be exactly beside Jeongyeon. 

Jeongyeon’s reaction is, as expected, one of sheer repulsion when Im throws her a thoroughly disgusted look and hesitantly sits down beside her. 

“I would’ve checked how up-to-date I am on my vaccines had I known I’d be sitting this close to you,” Im mutters, prompting an annoyed Jeongyeon to shoot back, “my apologies, your highness, that we all had to gather here and not in hell’s living room, where you usually have your meetings.” 

Thankfully, just as Momo is warding off an incoming headache in anticipation of another argument between these two, Chaeyoung queries with perfect timing, “does anyone know why the school district thought it’d be a good idea to put those letters up there when the students were already hating each other?” 

“I think,” Sana theorizes, “that they’re trying to impress the parents of all the important kids.” 

“Oh, then watch out, Jihyo—your last name might be up in their gym next,” Im remarks, tone light and teasing in a manner that Momo knows now she only uses with her friends and absolutely no one else. 

Park sighs contemplatively. “My dad’s term is up in 3 years... Mina will always be a Myoui.” 

“Before we start all this,” Im declares, back to bossy and abrasive, “we have to agree on one thing. We’re not implicating Mina.” Jeongyeon and Sana exchange eyerolls and Momo wonders for a second why she hadn’t even considered telling Mina about this, but Im goes on to explain, “she’s already going to submit a petition to the principal tomorrow, and also wrote a letter to the administration, asking them to take it down. Which they won’t, obviously. But my point is, if the building letters all of a sudden go missing, she’ll be the first person they’ll go after. So we need to make sure she has an alibi so she can’t be involved in this at all.” 

Jeongyeon inserts in response, “and let’s also make another thing clear. We’re not doing this for your friend; we’re doing this for Momo—” 

“I _am_ doing this for Mina,” Dahyun cuts in, more seriously than Momo’s seen her before. “She doesn’t want her name up there and she’s nice and my friend.” 

“Oh, you must be Kim Dahyun, Mina’s lab partner...” Im smiles in understanding. “Jihyo and I don’t see eye-to-eye with your girlfriend but I have a feeling we’ll get along with you just fine.” 

Dahyun is predictably kind and approachable; “are you Im Nayeon? Mina says a lot of good things about you, too,” and Momo’s favorite part of all this is watching Sana’s unhidden aversion in response. 

Jeongyeon, too, looks as though she’s watching a particularly gory scene in a horror movie, and tugs on Sana’s sleeve; “Sana! Go collect your girlfriend before she’s friends with the antichrist too!” 

“Dahyun! Stop getting along with them!” Sana hisses almost at the same time, not discreetly enough not to be heard. “Fine, fine,” she assents, however, towards everyone else. “I agree that we shouldn’t involve Myoui. Let her continue to do this the right way, and if that doesn’t work, we’re also trying it the _wrong_ way, but those letters are coming down one way or the other. We can’t afford to keep having these apocalyptic fights on campus. And the good news is that the school will probably not be able to afford new letters if we manage to steal the ones that are there.” 

“So what’s the plan?” Park queries tentatively. “Are we literally going to commit a heist here?” 

While Momo gears up to respond, Jeongyeon snorts in disbelief as she peers at Im Nayeon’s phone. “Are you seriously googling ‘burglary starter kit’ and ‘how to commit a heist and not go to prison?!’” 

And while Im slaps Jeongyeon’s arm in affront (“unlike you, I’m not part of a gang and don’t know my way around criminal activity!”), Chaeyoung provides a response in her own way, by clicking the projector into life and casting an aerial map of the school onto the wall before them. The SM students are reliably in awe, and there’s a joke Momo would tell, if she could, of how different these circumstances are today from the last time she and her friends were gathered here. The very girls they were plotting against are collaborating with them now—all but one. 

“I think we can do it by getting to the roof,” a sobered Jeongyeon proposes, standing up and making her way to the wall, the better to indicate the points of interest. “We can remove the letters off the façade and pull the letters up to the roof, since lowering them would mean getting caught by the security cameras.” 

“And we can’t do this in broad daylight—it’d be too easy to see us,” Chaeyoung points out. “So it has to be at night, and on a night where there are students in the school, so if we accidentally set off an alarm or something—” 

Chou jumps in with an emphatic nod; “—there will be lots of other students around, and we can just hide in plain sight.” 

“That massive detention session the school is having for all the students who were part of the food fight is going to be in the auditorium, exactly the building we have to steal from,” Chaeyoung continues, widened eyes telegraphing her excitement. 

Dahyun joins in, as well, leaning forward in interest from her part of the couch. “Yep, and it’s going to be this Thursday night—that’s perfect, then, because it gives us two days to plan this out and set it up.” 

“And I’m actually on the detention list, so I can be the informant from the inside,” Park reveals, hand patting Chou’s forearm in an absentminded but gentle manner. 

“I got detention, too, so I’ll also be in there,” Dahyun adds with a grin, and now all 4 of the juniors have leaned together conspiratorially. “So you and I can sit by the opposite exits during detention and keep an eye on everyone who goes in and out of the building while the others are on the roof.” 

Momo is taken aback by how efficiently the four youngest people in their group are putting together this scheme; Im, appalled and not hiding it, is the one who voices that, however. 

“Um, are you four _actual_ criminals?” 

Jeongyeon, barely recovering from what Momo knows is her own shock at how quickly the plan is coming together, resumes her earlier point. “Okay, so Chaeyoung said she can try to hack into the security cameras, and now we have eyes on the inside of the building, too, but there’s still the matter of how we’re going to get to the roof in the first place.” 

“Well,” Sana grumbles while casting an indiscreet side-eye, “thanks to Park’s oh-so-thorough inspection report, we know that one of the evacuation doors in the auditorium doesn’t lock all the way, so we can use that one. And as Momo mentioned before, I’m getting the building blueprints so we’ll know how to use the emergency stairwell to get to the roof.” Just as Park herself is pursing her lips in apparent displeasure at that initial underhanded offense, Sana pokes, “this might just be the first time a student body president is in actual detention, by the way—” 

Park sets aside all pretense of calm and takes the bait with tangible irritation. “I happen to have on good authority that we weren’t the ones who threw the first meatball—” 

And it only gets worse from there. 

“—let me tell you about how I almost got _stabbed_ with a breadstick by one of your students—” 

“—a block of parmesan cheese and _threw_ it at us—” 

Every other girl in the room is seemingly as unnerved as Momo is—or, in Im and Jeongyeon’s case, morbidly fascinated—witnessing the conversational equivalent of a highway car accident pile-up. 

“—swung it like a sword—” 

“—try dodging flying spaghetti—” 

Momo decides this is a good time as any to remind the two quarreling girls of the purpose of their meeting, and hopes she can damper the hostility between them at least enough to get them through the evening without any attempted murders. 

“Whatever happened today doesn’t really matter, since we’re all here to keep that from happening again,” she interrupts assertively, and thankfully, Park and Sana heed the urging behind her words. “We’re all on the same page on that, right?” 

At this, Park and Sana seem to assess one another warily, and there’s a look Momo spots on Sana’s face that she’s seen a few times, when she was fully inhabiting her role in the student council, when she was a leader first and foremost, driven by the greater good. It reassures Momo that her tactic worked, even before Sana actually speaks up. 

“I heard we did start it,” an apologetic Sana assents. “I’m sorry one of our students decided it would be a good idea to wage war using Italian food.” 

Park nods sympathetically, and there’s an almost audible collection of relieved exhales that emerge from the other girls. “Of all foods to use—” 

“They had to use the one that would make our cafeteria look like a crime scene afterwards. So many code violations...” 

“I counted about twelve.” 

“Students, right?” 

“Yeah, what are you going to do with them...” 

In a second, it feels like all the peripheric facts—that they’re from opposing schools, drastically different backgrounds, and not particularly friendly with one another—have been pushed out of sight, and all that’s remained are two girls whose high school years have been influenced, if not entirely defined, by their leadership positions in student government. A mutual understanding, a sort of acknowledgement of a shared experience, weaves through their pre-existent awareness of one another, and Momo barely stifles back a smile. For all the crap Sana has talked about Park Jihyo, here’s the one person she can talk endlessly with about the student council, who would not fall asleep as Momo and Jeongyeon have. 

“Okay, so we have a way of getting in,” Jeongyeon recaps, and as though on cue, Chaeyoung switches the projected image into the picture Momo took earlier of the letters. All eight girls seem to take a moment to study their target objects. “I’m guessing we also need some equipment to steal those letters since all we have is Chaeyoung’s rusty Swiss army knife, and all that stuff will probably cost a fortune—” 

Haughtily, Im inserts herself back into the conversation. “Um, have we met? We have the fortune.” She motions airily towards herself and her two friends, then continues, “we can buy anything. So that’s not a concern.” 

“We need a getaway car, too,” Chou posits thoughtfully, adding, “and a driver.” 

“I’ll do it,” Momo volunteers, recalling that she’s probably the best driver among her friends, and guessing that the SM students don’t drive themselves often. “And we’ll probably use Jeongyeon’s car because you guys’ cars are…” Limousines and armored towncars, and other fancy vehicles Momo can’t drive. “Um, hard to miss…” she reasons instead, selecting her words carefully as she addresses Im, Chou, and Park. “No offense.” 

“None taken,” Im shrugs, apparently speaking for her friends, as well. “We can use Yoo’s junkyard relic.” 

Jeongyeon scoffs at the insult and snarls to Momo and Sana, “let me just choke her once, please.” 

Im, however, is more than happy to twist the implied threat into a suggestive admission instead. “Oh, you’re into that? I really can’t blame you—I’d want to choke me, too,” she smirks loftily. 

“How do you do this?” Jeongyeon asks, baffled. “How do you flirt _with yourself_?” 

Momo clears her throat and speaks up again, to curtail another potential argument and address an important uncharted point instead. “We need to practice this a couple of times before we actually do it; it seems like a lot can go wrong.” 

“We have two days to practice—tomorrow and Wednesday,” Park sums up, and a tense silence befalls the room. “If we really want to do this, we need to focus. We’ll meet here every day after school, and hammer out the details until we have a complete plan and can carry it out.” 

Instinctively, all of them exchange looks of agreement, and Momo derives enough strength from their shared determination that she feels significantly less nervous than before. 

They can do this. They’re going to do this. 

And _she’s_ going to do this, for the person whose smile she sees sometimes, flashing behind her eyelids when she blinks. 

“Okay,” Im states seriously, and everyone fixes a decisive look at the letters again. “Let’s Ocean’s 8 that crap.” 

\- 

On their way out of Chaeyoung’s house, Im pulls Momo aside on the sidewalk and commands flatly, “you’re going to avoid Mina for the next two days, just so you know. Don’t talk to her and definitely don’t hang out with her.” _What the_ —Momo’s immediate bristling prompts her to amend, “I know you’re a horrible liar already from what Yoo’s told me, and I’m assuming you get even worse when you’re talking to someone you have a crush on—” 

“I don’t have a cru—” 

“—so it’ll do us no good if we’re all trying to keep this a secret and you can’t help yourself around her and end up telling her.” 

“I can lie to her,” Momo defends, offended. 

“Let’s do a little experiment, shall we?” 

With impressive dexterity, Im withdraws an iPad from her purse, and in less than 2 seconds, has managed to produce [a selfie](https://78.media.tumblr.com/7bcc356d00f8a13a352a4586d33ed775/tumblr_odwqzxeTnC1ujcaa1o1_1280.jpg) containing both her and Mina. 

“Why are you showing—” Momo begins, puzzled, but then Im zooms in to Mina’s face specifically so that it’s occupying the tablet’s entire screen, rendering it as closely to human size as possible without it looking like a severed head. And then she holds the tablet in front of her own face, positioned precisely above her neck and shoulders, and it almost seems as though it truly is Mina she’s looking at, which is kind of horrifying. 

“Okay, now lie to me.” 

Momo gapes at the screen. Perhaps it should worry her how much she likes this face already—and everything else it conjures in her mind; the brightness of her smile, the soft notes of her perfume, and that everpresent, earnest, unassuming effort to be good enough—when really, she had never even seen it prior to last week. The mere thought of Mina softens every part of her heart and it just serves as a reminder to Momo once again, that she likes Mina so much more than she was prepared to like anyone. 

“You’re just staring at her picture, aren’t you?” Im groans with exasperation, sound muffled from behind the tablet. “Come on—try to lie. She told me your favorite food is jokbal. So tell me you hate it, or something.” Momo stays silent, too busy fighting back a sudden bloom of warmth in her chest at the idea that Mina talks about her to her friends. “Tell me jokbal smells like feet and tastes like dirt.” 

Momo remembers the shade underneath a low tree, and an abashed laugh, only half-heartedly defensive; people don’t usually lie to me, she had said. 

“Okay, fine—I can’t lie to her,” Momo admits with a disappointed sigh, pushing down the iPad to glare at Im’s self-satisfied smirk. “But you can’t honestly expect me not to talk to her at all while this is going on.” 

Im’s eyeroll is so pronounced that Momo worries her eyeballs will fall out of her head. “Was that you complaining about not talking to her for _two days_? I’m sorry; I couldn’t hear you over the sound of a _whip_ cracking in the distance.” 

Momo stiffens again, fighting a rush of embarrassment, hot under her skin. “I’m not whipped, if that’s what you’re implying. We’re not even dating.” 

“God, if you’re already like this now, I can’t wait to see how you’ll get if you ever _do_ date her—” Momo interrupts her with a hard, annoyed scowl, and Im halts, as though considering something. That flicker of calculation can’t mean anything good. “When all this is over,” she begins, frank but careful, with none of the bite and cool detachment Momo has (reluctantly) grown used to; “when we finish this job, you should tell her how you feel.” 

Muscles stilled and brain short-circuited, Momo now is the one who halts. 

“She’ll never think, on her own, that you like her. She never thinks anyone likes her.” 

A strange fear starts to curl around Momo’s heart. 

“If you’re waiting for her to say something, you’ll wait for about 140 years.” 

So much of what she’s done around Mina has been a reaction to the things Mina has made her feel, and now this, this would mean making an actual choice. 

Im takes her silence as resistance, because she sighs with some mild frustration. “Okay, fine—how about we make a deal? Tell me a country you’ve always wanted to go to.” 

Momo is still mid-attempt to gather all her disjointed, conflicting urges and reservations, so she gives the question no actual thought. For some unexplainable reason, her mind conjures an image of Chaeyoung’s Swiss army knife and Momo replies dully, “Switzerland.” 

As Momo should have anticipated, Im has the gall to react with condescension. “Really? Switzerland? It’s tiny and boring.” Likely reading through Momo’s narrowed-eyed glare, she clears her throat and amends, “all right—Switzerland it is. You tell Mina how you feel, and if it doesn’t work out, I’ll personally take you to Switzerland. In my own jet, if I have to.” And probably because Momo betrays nothing but skepticism at the supremely unappetizing idea of an overseas trip with her, she adds, as though it causes her actual pain to say this, “and you can spend the entire trip telling me what an idiot I was in even suggesting this, and how much you hate me, etc. I’ll let you talk all the crap you want.” 

Okay, that does sound marginally appealing. 

“So, you tell her. And then you either get the girl, or you get a trip. It’s really a win-win, Hirai—you won’t find a better deal.” 

Momo lets the words trace the space inside her mind first, the words she would tell Mina if she were brave enough. 

She thinks of that half-second again. Was she imagining it? 

“But I’d bet money that you’ll never go to Switzerland. Well, you might—Mina might take you. Her family probably owns one of the mountains, or something.” 

There’s a thing floating inside her, that used to be shapeless and nameless. 

“Meanwhile, for the next two days before we rob the school, I’ll help you avoid her. And you won’t die from not talking to her for two days, by the way, so please don’t get dramatic again.” 

There’s an ocean, waiting to swallow her up. 

“Ugh—your friend Yoo just texted me an edited picture of me bald, so at least you know you don’t have the worst life right now. I swear to God, she’s like the universe’s punishment for every person I bullied in junior high. Anyway, so what do you say, Hirai? Do we have a deal?” 

She really, really hopes she wasn’t just imagining it. 

“Yeah. Deal.” 

\- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I could travel through time without any apocalyptic consequences, I would go back to when I first told myself--LIED TO MYSELF--that I could totally work full-time, go to law school, and write/regularly update a fic, all at the same time and without any problems.
> 
> p.s. all your support and amazing feedback so far makes me emo and I can't thank you guys enough.


	5. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 2yeon inspiration:  
> [Here](http://imnayeonie.tumblr.com/post/132078716443), and [here](https://66.media.tumblr.com/0c9639e99151b27095b28a0b5e72f455/tumblr_p01ku77Y0z1rnk2vho3_400.gif).
> 
> And the MiMo inspiration WHERE TO START  
> (1) well, 90% was the [Yes or Yes (Lovely Ver.)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eGT1uFe5Rls) video (one day I will stop watching this video on loop, but TODAY IS NOT THAT DAY FOLKS)  
> (2) but [this](https://twitter.com/jaelikeys/status/1069173619505283072), too  
> (3) and don't forget [ this one](https://twitter.com/detaimo/status/1064805639262822401).

** THE PAST **

As it turns out, avoiding Mina on Tuesday is not a problem. Momo receives a text from her that morning (along with a picture of Ray, lying on her lap, impossibly well-behaved and soft, like the exact sort of dog Momo imagined Mina would have), confiding that she’s missing school that day to meet with her parents in Japan, and will return on Wednesday. This, she explains, is at their request, but she’s nonetheless harboring the ulterior motive of asking them to file an official petition with the school district for the removal of the letters. 

It’s too soon to miss Mina, Momo knows that. Mina’s been gone for less than 24 hours and they’re going to see each other tomorrow, for crying out loud. Yes, historically, Momo has never handled very well being far away from people, and yes, Mina has somehow managed to nudge her way into practically every thought Momo has produced this morning, and there’s a sort of trail of realization here that her mind wants to follow, but Momo refuses to allow herself down that road, because all of that is neither here nor there. It’s objectively too soon to miss Mina, and Momo does not miss her, absolutely not.

So when Momo arrives at school and wonders if any classmate of Mina’s will supply her with class notes for the day, and when they have their first break of the day after second period and Momo humors a fleeting thought that Mina would never be able to guess the flavor of today’s ice cream, she freezes with the spoon halfway to her mouth and then almost rolls her eyes at herself. 

“Goddamn it, Hirai,” she grumbles moodily under her breath. After meeting Mina, a lot of things that meant nothing started to mean everything, and it’s… not good.

She snaps a quick picture of the ice cream—careful to do so out of Im’s sight, recalling her promise not to speak to Mina so as not to accidentally reveal the letter-stealing plan—and then sends it to Mina.

 **[Insert Name unnie | 9:13]** _I know you’re out jetsetting around Asia but I’m here eating this ice cream and just wanted to tell you about this amazing taro (?) or white chocolate (?) or red bean (?) ice cream that you’re missing out on_  
**[Mina Something-Something | 9:13]** _I’ll try my best not to get too jealous but I’m not sure I can_

That makes her laugh, and she immediately sweeps her surroundings in the cafeteria to ensure Im is nowhere in the vicinity.

 **[Insert Name unnie | 9:14]** _I’m sensing a little bit of sarcasm here_

The school itself is still re-emerging from the nuclear fallout that was Monday’s catastrophe, and the division between the JYP and SM students is more pronounced than ever. Which only makes it more remarkable that at lunch, Momo’s customary table with Jeongyeon, Sana, and Chaeyoung is also occupied by Im Nayeon, Park Jihyo, and Chou Tzuyu, all huddled in concentration. In times past, the free intermingling of seniors and juniors would have raised enough eyebrows; the fact that they’re not only from different years, but also from warring student groups piques practically the entire school’s curiosity. But they have so little time to plan and initiate their mission that it seems absolutely necessary to direct every bit of spare time they have into their discussions.

While Momo, Sana, and Park Jihyo discreetly examine Google Maps street-views of the surrounding neighborhood through the tablet Park has propped on her lap, Momo can’t help overhearing what the other half of their group is occupying themselves with.

“… rope, a hammer—” Jeongyeon and Chaeyoung are listing off in lowered voices, across the table from Im Nayeon and Chou Tzuyu, who are busily comparing notes as well.

“Yes, we got it—”

“—screwdriver, flashlights—”

“—got that, too—”

“—batteries, portable saws—”

“A portable saw?” Im interjects in a hiss. “Where the hell are we supposed to get a _portable saw_ today—”

“Have you ever heard of a home improvement store?” Jeongyeon rebuts easily, and both Chaeyoung and Chou exchange sighs, because yes, they’re all more or less getting along now, united by necessity, but here’s the one dynamic that has absolutely remained the same.

Im scoffs loftily; “do I _look_ like someone who’s ever needed to _improve_ her home?” 

“Oh, yes, I forgot; hell’s furniture and decorations are always up-to-date—” Jeongyeon snarks, to which Im sneers, “do you _practice_ being this annoying or does it just come naturally to you—” 

“—why are we even in the same group in the mission; did you just want to torture me—”

“—of course it was me who chose the group set-ups; obviously I wanted to spend even more time with you, since I _love_ misery—”

Before Jeongyeon can shoot back a retort to that as well, prolonging the usual back-and-forth, Chou intervenes and successfully steers the conversation back to the original topic.

“Anyway—yes, we’ll get the saw. What else?”

Momo turns back to Sana and Park, finding that they, too, had been warily watching the barbed exchange. All three of them shrug and refocus their attention on Park’s tablet screen.

“Okay, so this is where you should wait in the car…”

-

Chaeyoung reveals that she obtained the name of the sign shop that manufactured the letters, and once they’re dismissed from classes and gather in the Sons’ basement, Im puts forth an award-worthy impression of a well-meaning, middle-aged socialite when she calls the sign shop and pretends she’s a potential customer. “Yes, I just _love_ the new Myoui letters on the JYP High School auditorium, and was pondering on purchasing my own.” The feigned raspy quality of her voice lends a very subtle but convincing age-worn tone to the conversation, and both Momo and Chaeyoung have a hard time containing laughter as Im asks, “I was wondering, dear, if you could tell me—what are they made of?” and then immediately grins and begins to scribble something down onto a writing pad. “Oh, it’s metal but it’s hollow? And how much does each letter weigh?” Im confidently raises a thumb-up and Momo high-fives Chou.

Jeongyeon and Chou enthusiastically join forces to perform all the physics calculations necessary to determine how many people and how much equipment they need to extract and carry the letters (while Im grumbles “I have to let Jihyo know her girlfriend and that moron are bonding over math”), and while Momo is studying the neighborhood map once again to come up with potential escape routes, Park, Sana, and Chaeyoung continue to run errands across Seoul, shopping for the right items. 

The Chaeyoung-created NaJeongMoSaJiDaChaeTzu group chat is bombarded with pictures of equipment they’re purchasing ( **[SN | 17:37]** _I saw Liam Neeson use these same gloves in Taken so yeah we bought them_ ), selfies from Im, who predictably decides to model prospective attire for their mission ( **[NY | 18:57]** _and here’s the latest from this year’s fall/winter robber fashion collection_ ), and with Google’d pictures of ugly animals, all submitted by Jeongyeon as a response to Im’s selfies.

It’s strange, how _not_ -strange it feels to have three new girls incorporated into their daily communication. Every other thought Momo has finds a way of wandering over to Mina so Momo also wonders if there will be nine of them when Mina comes back to school, or whether the JYP and SM students will each head in separate directions once they’ve stolen the letters. She’s not sure what she hopes, or what she expects, but when she reads, 

**[CY | 18:14]** _Nayeon-unnie the store doesn’t have a diamond-encrusted flashlight like you wanted so we bought a regular one for you_

… with a grinning emoji, and then Im’s 

**[NY | 18:15]** _the store I’m in didn’t have burglar clothes in children sizes so we might have to roll up your pants and sleeves a bit_

… followed by everyone’s laugh emojis, Momo has to suppress a pleasant wave of affection for everyone involved in the stealing operation, and force herself not to hope too much that everyone stays together when the endeavor is done.

Once all of them are congregated in the basement that evening, they’re tired and sleepy and have barely managed to complete their respective homework assignments, but Park and Dahyun order pizza, Im and Jeongyeon engage in one last exchange of insults, and Chaeyoung sets up her laptop and the projector. It’s while Chaeyoung steps away from the laptop with Dahyun to retrieve the pizza and the two are descending the stairwell with the boxes that Im decides to get a head-start on their letter-stealing slideshow and makes her way to the laptop.

And that’s when Momo hears a “what fuckery is _this_?” followed by Chaeyoung tripping on one of the stairwell steps, and an aghast Dahyun dropping a pizza. At the same time that Park’s jaw drops and Chou’s brows gather into a very deep frown, Sana releases a tiny shriek of panic, Jeongyeon chokes on a popcorn, and then Momo herself diverts her attention to the source of the commotion, snapping her eyes to the wall in front of them, upon which the first slide of what is definitely the wrong slideshow is being projected: “OPERATION SNOB SABOTAGE.”

OH SHIT

A merciless burst of horrified disbelief kicks the air from Momo’s lungs, even as she absentmindedly slaps Jeongyeon’s back to help dislodge the rogue popcorn kernel.

“Wait a _second_ —”

Im, bewildered, flicks though the next slide, showing the selfie of their three targets.

“What the—”

And the next one, displaying Park Jihyo’s pictures and information. It’s Im’s turn, now—along with Park and Chou—to gasp.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit

The enormity of their shell-shock is paralyzing, so Momo and every other girl from JYP is rendered immobile as Im and her friends gape, outraged, at the slideshow.

“I didn’t _literally_ have a shrine at SM,” Park objects indignantly, as a stunned Chou is asking, “how did you guys find Jihyo’s secret Snapchat?”

A few more slides are clicked through, Sana continues to have a quasi-panic attack, Chaeyoung appears one second away from a stroke, Jeongyeon finally coughs her way into a cleared airway, and Momo’s mind is buried underneath a thousand different terror-stricken scenarios of what will happen next—the SM students will fight them, or quit their letter-stealing mission in a rage, or will transfer schools overnight, or will tell the principal about the entire plan, or will tell Mina about this OH MY GOD they’re going to tell Mina and Mina will be mad at her for trying to plot against her and will hate Momo and the mere idea of that happening swoops her stomach up violently into her throat. She’s suspended mid-breath, wondering whether the sheer amount of horror overwhelming her will cause her to faint, or die, or if at any moment now, her soul will dissolve inside her and the person formerly known as Hirai Momo will be no more—

But then Im cries out in protest, “I am NOT 3% human and 97% evil!” when her target screen is projected, and Momo hears a chortle from beside her. Baffled by who could possibly find humor in this apocalyptic development, she turns and is welcomed by the sight of Jeongyeon’s unhidden amusement at Im’s displeasure. “I’m _at least_ 20% human. Maybe even more.”

Now completely recovered, Jeongyeon predictably uses this opportunity to taunt, with a much lighter brand of humor than Momo expected, “high 30’s, at least.”

Im throws her a vague glare of revulsion but addresses terror-frozen Momo instead when she states evenly, “you should have let her choke.”

It’s Park who herds everyone’s attention away from the Jeongyeon/Im argument after the last slides are clicked through, by standing at the centermost area of the basement and visibly drawing a deep breath that only reinforces her business-like demeanor.

“Okay, this isn’t... a surprise. Nayeon and I did figure you two were somehow trying to sabotage us.” Momo is cringing, regretting ever agreeing to the operation in the first place, especially when their efforts were going to be so patently obvious. But after raising an eyebrow in Sana and Jeongyeon’s direction, Park lets her eyes linger on Momo for a moment, just long enough for Momo to frown in confusion, before adding, “the Mina part, though—”

“Yes, the part about Mina—I have so many questions,” Im interrupts with a haughty laugh. “Knowing what I know now about Hirai, I have to ask— _this_ was your plan?” Im clicks Mina’s target information screen back into the projector and immediately, a wave of shame shoots up a hot flush onto Momo’s entire face. “You two were seriously pitting _her_ against Mina? That’s like trying to get a puppy to fight another puppy.” 

“Yes, we figured that out fairly quickly,” Sana mumbles darkly, shooting Momo a scowl while Momo herself sinks into the cushioned embrace of the couch, hoping feverishly to shrink down and disappear. 

“Well, obviously that whole plan didn’t really work,” Dahyun posits with a shrug. “And not just because Momo has a crush on the girl she was literally supposed to target—”

“Hey! I don’t have a cr—” Momo objects resentfully, words drowned out almost immediately as all other seven girls turn to one another in a burst of commiserating chatter.

“—seriously, she was so horrible, you guys wouldn’t believe—”

“—and when I told Mina that my mentor was giving me stress hives, all she told me that her mentor was the nicest person she had met—”

“—I don’t think Momo even tried, honestly—”

“—did you know Momo is working extra hours to get money for that auction thing—”

“—and we did say right on the first day that she’s too nice—”

“—funny you mention the auction because Mina was actually telling me—”

“—Mina can’t scheme to save her life, either, so maybe they really are a good match—”

Momo clears her throat as loudly and pointedly as she can, pushing past her lingering mortification and effectively silencing the concurrent strands of conversation. “Can we stop talking about me and get back to stealing the letters—you know, the actual important stuff?”

“Yes, Hirai is right. But we do need to sort out the issue that we’re only wasting time when we argue and fight and sabotage one another,” a solemn Park states, prompting everyone to nod—some reluctantly and some in tacit agreement. “I’m not saying we should be friends, but…”

Park trails off uncertainly but Sana is quick to finish the thought. “But being enemies is pointless.” 

A long moment ensues of all eight girls seemingly assessing one another; all the things that separate them and unite them. At some point that Momo can’t quite identify, it became harder to find whatever reasons were sustaining their animosity. Momo thinks about it again, about sitting at the same table, about the eight-person group chat, about planning escape routes with Park and high-fiving Chou, about being here, being together. 

“You can call me Momo, you know.” The words are out before Momo has any time to think them through, and the person to whom she addressed these words, Park Jihyo, seems to respond without taking much time to deliberate on response, either.

“Okay. And you guys can all call me Jihyo.”

A pleasant rush of affection spreads through Momo’s chest when the other girls nod, providing variations of “same here” and “if we’re committing a crime together we might as well not be so formal.”

And then Im, reliably, states with a side-eyed glance in Jeongyeon’s direction, “ugh, not sabotaging you is going to be hard enough—it’s going to take me a while to get used to calling you by your name instead of Waste of Oxygen and Space, or God’s Biggest Regret.”

Also reliably, Jeongyeon nods and replies, “yeah, I’ll have to try really hard to stop calling you Wife of Satan, or Evil Abyss.”

While the two exchange shrugs that appear almost shockingly cordial, Momo gapes at the scene and overhears Jihyo whispering to Sana, “are we all hallucinating or is this actually happening?”

“I’m not going to be nice to you, just so you know,” Nayeon forewarns, however, examining her nails idly. Dahyun and Chaeyoung begin to pass out the pizzas while also staring at the scene with fascination.

“I don’t think you’d know how, honestly.”

“Well, we did have our own operation against you two.” Momo, along with apparently every other girl who isn’t Jihyo, perks up at Nayeon’s dry statement. “But it had a much better name.”

“You were plotting against them, too?” Tzuyu asks Jihyo immediately, clearly taken aback.

“I couldn’t tell you or Mina because you two were getting along with all of them, and Nayeon was so determined to do this…” Jihyo explains in a murmur not low enough to keep everyone else from hearing. “And no, Nayeon—ours did not have a _better name_ —”

Nayeon interjects with an eye-rolled protest. “You think ours was worse than ‘Snob Sabotage,’ really?”

“What was your operation’s name?” Momo asks curiously, and then regrets ever wanting to find out.

“Operation Plebe-pocalypse.”

A round of laughter—some mocking, some surprised, and some prompted by Jeongyeon’s stony “I really don’t know what I expected”—floods the basement and Nayeon slides into a stance that’s half insulted and half amused.

“Before you all get uppity about the name, I didn’t even come up with it; _Mina_ did—”

Mid-laughter, Jihyo rushes to explain; “only because you told her you needed a title for a comedy play you were writing about economic classes being at war, told from the point of view of the rich—”

Momo fields off the now-familiar squeeze around her heart at the sound of Mina’s name, and then also fields off a tiny bit of worry that perhaps her feelings have made her head transparent enough that anyone will be able to see the paths of her thoughts and how often they lead to the same person.

“That doesn’t mean anything—”

Jihyo and Nayeon’s humored argument continues to spiral and fuel everyone’s laughter but Momo is unfocused, debating whether she could text Mina right now, could ask her how she is and how she’s enjoying returning to Japan, even if only for a day. Whether she’s eaten the snacks she likes. Whether the autumn this year is as nice as they remember when they were little.

She mentally calculates how long it’s been since they last saw each other. From lunch time yesterday, to tonight… 

“—we both know Mina would have never suggested anything if she knew what you were actually up to—”

... something like, 31 hours? It feels longer. She wonders if it feels longer for Mina, too.

“You’re right; I forgot about her newfound poverty kink—no offense, Momo.”

The mention of her name snags Momo’s attention by a corner of her unanchored daydream, and pulls her back into the conversation. “Huh?”

A wide-eyed Tzuyu practically leaps back into the conversation as Jihyo swats Nayeon’s arm. “Anyway, yes, we’re all in agreement not to sabotage one another. So we should, um, go back to planning, right?”

That seems to steer everyone back into the mission at hand, so while Nayeon relinquishes the laptop back to Chaeyoung—with a stern “you and I are going to have some words about that bullet-point saying ‘every time she laughs, a child cries’”—everyone else settles back into place. Momo notices Tzuyu and Jeongyeon idly discussing something about the chemical composition of the letters (while apparently realizing they have internships in the same lab: “no way! You’re interning at the Jung lab, too??” “Do you start on Monday? Me, too!”), while Nayeon, Dahyun, and Sana debate the quality of pizzas in the neighborhood pizzerias, and Jihyo speaks to Chaeyoung about the Google Earth screenshots Chaeyoung has pasted onto one of the slides.

And Momo smiles, despite herself, because nothing about this scene feels strange, at all. 

-

 **[Mina Something-Something | 10:05]** _I had a really great jokbal dish and thought of you_  
**[Insert Name unnie | 10:06]** _It’s for sure not better than the one from that place I recommended to you which by the way, I had today again and yes it still tastes like heaven_  
**[Insert Name unnie | 10:06]** _Besides, I don’t know if I can trust the tastebuds of someone who doesn’t like avocados and can’t tell pistachio apart from peach_  
**[Mina Something-Something | 10:07]** _I don’t know if I can trust someone who hates *water*_  
**[Mina Something-Something | 10:07]** _Maybe you’re the one with the bad tastebuds_  
**[Insert Name unnie | 10:06]** _gasp_

-

Wednesday features eight visibly exhausted girls, and Momo’s first thought of the day is a joyful, excited reminder that Mina will be back to school, which is quickly chased away by her second: a definitively mood-dampening realization that she can’t speak to Mina, at all. 

Because they’re from different years and therefore share no classes, Momo ponders that bumping into Mina won’t be a problem, really, at least until lunch period, as the juniors and seniors share the allotted hour in the cafeteria. 

Third period has a re-scheduled Chemistry class—the same one in which Momo has been paired up with Nayeon—so the two end up in the library with another group of students, finishing the research component of the week’s assignment. Nayeon is now significantly less bitter about their partnership, so they have no issues dividing and allocating responsibilities to maximize their 20-minute time allowance. They’ve split up to cover more ground, and as Momo is reading a text from Nayeon ( **[Im Nayeon | 11:11]** _I’m in favor of raising taxes if it means this school will get bookshelves that don’t look like they’re going to fall over if anyone sneezes_ ) and summoning her last morsel of patience before typing up a reply, it happens, completely by accident. 

It happens as Momo is being carried by large and purposeful strides, advancing through rows and rows of bookshelves to find the section of interest.

It happens when she spots the row labeled with the same code she had made note of, somewhat secluded and not as well-lit as the sections closer to the library entrance. It happens when she rounds the corner into a narrower-than-usual aisle between shelves, and finds Mina, absorbed in something on her phone, quiet and small and familiar, the answer to a question Momo couldn’t possibly verbalize, might not even have known she was asking. 

Halting, Momo catches Mina’s gaze just as Mina is lowering her phone and blinking her eyes up to the main hallway, happy and surprised.

Momo sees her, and then she hears her, exactly like thunder. “Oh, hi, Momo.” And there’s a shuffling of book pages, scattered coughs and murmured conversations, and even Momo’s own thoughts floating in that song that always plays in her mind whenever Mina is around, but Mina’s voice, it overrides everything.

Her heartbeats settle into some erratic pace she can’t course-correct even as she valiantly tries to; it’s a hopeless cause, it just is. Momo wills her own voice, at least, to be steady and calm, and takes a step closer. “Hey. How come you’re here in the library?” 

“I’m kind of ahead in my math class so the professor let me do independent study this period for geography, since I missed some material yesterday,” Mina explains, taking her own step closer.

“That’s good; I thought you were cutting class,” Momo jokes in light accusation. “I’m sure your mentor would have been very disappointed.”

“You’re right,” Mina agrees easily, her smile now wide and bright and clear and downright dizzying. “My mentor would have wanted me to cut class in the delinquent spot, not the library.”

Momo exaggerates an indignant gasp that Mina laughs at immediately. And then it’s terrible, suddenly, the strength of the impulse to step closer to her again; Momo stifles it with great difficulty to stand her ground and tease instead with mock disapproval, “you know, you’re a lot brattier than you seemed at first.” 

Mina laughs again, sounding like she’s sorry for the smartass comment while at the same time not sorry at all, and it dawns on Momo that she could meet and re-meet Mina a thousand times, could have a thousand conversations with her, and would always feel this same way, like some magnet inside her ribcage is constantly pulling her entire body towards Mina.

“Was your trip good?” Momo asks, training her eyes to stop their fascinated hopping from one mole to another. “How was your talk with your parents?”

The way Mina shifts then, tilting her head up to the ceiling as though searching for the right words, hints to Momo that the topic of her parents is never going to be one Mina enjoys.

“It was okay… it was really all because of that meatball incident and my guards thinking the tomato sauce was blood,” she explains dolefully. “I had to convince my parents to let me keep my security sensor off when I’m in school, but I have to keep it on everywhere else. They’re always worried about me.” Momo, sympathetic to parental overprotection, offers her a nod that immediately stops when Mina continues, “if anything happens to me, there’s really no one to take over the corporation.”

Some uneasy part of Momo wants to comment that surely, that can’t be the only reason Mina’s parents would be worried for her, but another part, just as uneasy, decides to move on.

Oh—there _is_ something she needs to address right now, before she has another inadvertent uniform switch-up later to incur Nayeon’s wrath again.

“Hey, before I forget,” she mumbles, relocating her backpack to her side, and digging in, “I have to give back your jacket. I accidentally wore it on Monday and Im Nayeon—” She pulls out the jacket and extends it to a curious Mina, “—almost had a heart attack.”

The jacket is entirely ignored by Mina, who chuckles with amusement. “She really saw you wearing it?”

“Yeah. She saw that, and the mole you drew on my rib, too,” Momo informs, barely holding back a shudder.

“I can see her getting a little territorial about an outsider wearing our uniform,” she concedes, but in the short pause that follows that, Mina eases back into a smile that infuses a hearty and distinct rush of affection into Momo’s bloodstream. “But I don’t think she was actually upset about the mole thing. There would be no reason for her to be.” Momo lifts an eyebrow questioningly and Mina’s cheeks brighten with a noticeable flush even as she smiles. “She doesn’t know that’s my favorite.”

“She doesn’t know?” Momo blurts out, taken aback.

“No; no one knows. Only you.”

The echo of a very particular memory hums inside Momo’s head just then: a rooftop, a sunset, that pleasant ache of exhaustion after a dance practice, and Mina, grinning and telling Momo about her favorite mole. The strength of the memory is surprising. When that moment was happening, Momo had no idea its shape would be etched so prominently in her mind that she would remember it like this later. 

And as the last ripple of that echo subsides, some part of her imagination that she can’t control pictures what it’d be like to kiss Mina. God, she’s in trouble. She’s in so much trouble.

“Oh, and you can keep the jacket,” Mina amends, blush gradually subsiding, and somehow not noticing that Momo is more or less deeply malfunctioning. “I have about 10 of them, and I know we’re about to change uniforms again once Yoo and Nayeon agree on a design, right?”

At some point, Momo’s brain will have to resume normal operations, and Momo forces this moment to be it. “Yeah, and then we’ll debut that with our new routine, too. Which we haven’t… um, done, yet.”

Mina’s eyes widen with remorse. “Oh, I’m so sorry; we were supposed to practice that Monday, but I got evacuated.”

“It’s fine,” Momo reassures immediately, unwilling to have Mina blaming herself for something outside her control. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll have to practice some more anyway; I kind of forgot what we went over last time.” Automatically, she raises her hand between them, because that’s what Mina did on Monday—demonstrated an entire sequence of steps with her fingertips, on Momo’s palm—and is about to lower it back when Mina darts her eyes to and from Momo’s hand a few times, and proceeds to completely misunderstand Momo’s absentminded motion.

“Um, okay; I’ll show it to you again.” She takes Momo’s hand in hers, laying it palm up on top of her own palm to mimic Monday’s display, and Momo strangles back a whine of surprise at the unexpected contact. 

_Crap crap crap_ Mina is touching her this is _bad_ this is _terrible_

Momo’s mind is in a frenzy of panic, wondering whether it’s just her, or has the temperature in the library just jumped a thousand degrees, when Mina clears her throat and asks, “do you want me to do the first version or the faster one?”

This thing she’s feeling… it’s a problem. It always has been, but it’s a problem now, specifically, because there are lots of things Momo wants, and none of them have anything to do with versions of their cheer routine. Momo wants the librarian to aim the air conditioning vents her way, so she can better handle the full-body flush caused by Mina’s proximity. She wants Mina’s touch not to be this warm and cloud-soft. She wants to react to Mina’s voice in a different way, and not as though every word is waking up some longing inside her that she doesn’t recognize. She wants whatever it is that Mina planted inside her to stop seeping into her thoughts. She wants to know whether she’s imagining this or not; whether she’s misplaced her feelings and stuck herself into hoping for something hopeless.

A powerful but irrational and almost alarmingly absurd urge to kiss Mina ties Momo’s stomach into a knot. 

“Uh, no, that’s okay,” Momo assures with a high-pitched, forced laugh, careful not to pull her hand away too quickly. “We can just… practice in person sometime.”

Thankfully, Mina doesn’t seem to notice the inch-thin distance separating Momo from an aneurysm. “Do you want to practice today after school?”

“Sure; that sounds goo—” Momo cuts herself off, brain flashing red. Crap; she spoke too soon. They’re practicing the robbery this afternoon. “—I mean, um, not today. Um… it’s not a good day…” Jesus Christ—coming up with an excuse without outright lying to Mina, who’s watching her with that gentle, polite, wide-eyed interest, is making her hyperventilate. “Because, I, um… I’ve been working a lot at the restaurant.” Okay, that’s not a lie. It’s certainly not why she can’t practice this afternoon, but this is not a lie. “We’re really short-staffed, so, um… yeah, a lot of hours to work…” Also not... quite a lie. Technically.

And then that same song that plays in her head because of Mina morphs into a siren when Momo spots Nayeon strolling through the hallway behind Mina, only to halt in her steps in a dramatic, pissed-off double-take as she darts her eyes back and forth between Momo and Mina. 

_‘WHAT THE FUCK??’_ Nayeon mouths, and Momo’s panic shoots up another five-hundred levels. _‘DON’T TELL HER!’_

“Um, tomorrow, though—” _Shit_ —Momo snaps her jaw shut when she realizes that tomorrow, _especially_ , she can’t practice with Mina, as that’s the actual robbery day, and oh my God, having Nayeon right behind Mina, using her index finger to make a threateningly realistic slicing motion across her neck is working against every part of her composure. “Never mind—tomorrow I can’t—”

Mina speaks simultaneously, however, that ever-present blush giving way to some degree of paling. “Oh, I can’t tomorrow… I’m, um, kind of busy.”

And that’s when Nayeon, swift as though carried by the wind, makes her way to them. “Hi, Mina,” she greets brightly, and Momo almost sags with relief because at least now she won’t be at risk of betraying their secret. Mina, too, seems to regain some color on her face when she greets Nayeon back. “I thought you had math this period.” Momo notices the miniscule edge of tension in Nayeon’s question, but Mina doesn’t seem to pick up on it. 

“I’m on independent study for geography, and then Momo and I bumped into each other.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Nayeon notes flatly, shooting Momo a warning glare. “Hirai and I have an assignment due so we have to get back to class. So I’ll take her for now but I’ll give her back to you later. Come on, Hirai.”

Nayeon waves a goodbye, which Mina returns. And then, following not too far behind, Momo slowly begins to walk backwards to delay Mina’s disappearance from her sight, smiling at Mina and being smiled back at, until finally she forces herself to turn completely away, still carrying the words with her, in her blood. 

No one knows. Only you.

She’s barely exited the row when she’s abruptly pulled into another row of bookshelves, greeted then by stern-faced Nayeon and Jeongyeon.

“—found her almost telling Mina about the operation,” Nayeon hisses, point-blank, to Jeongyeon (who shouldn’t be here, right?).

“Jeong, don’t you have History this period?” Momo questions, a little baffled.

“She’s on independent study,” Nayeon answers indifferently (and how she knows Jeongyeon’s daily schedule better than Momo does is the real question here, Momo thinks).

“Demon texted me that she had an emergency, and apparently she was right—what the fuck, Momo!” Oh, jeez… Momo braces herself for the incoming lecture. “Didn’t we all agree that Myoui is the first person the school is going to go after when the letters go missing? She can’t know about the plan!”

“Bumping into her was an accident,” Momo explains, crossing her arms defensively; “and yeah, I almost told her, but I _didn’t_ —I stopped and lied and it was fine.”

In sync, Nayeon and Jeongyeon both scoff with revulsion.

“They’re just going to keep running into each other,” Nayeon grumbles unenthusiastically. “We need to keep them apart to make sure they don’t bump into each other anymore.”

Momo stiffens to object immediately, but Jeongyeon speaks up before she can seize the opportunity.

“Yeah, I agree. So just hang out with her the whole day, don’t tell her about the operation, or lie to her about it, and we can keep them out of each other’s ways.”

Momo tries to interject, “wait a minute—” but Nayeon and Jeongyeon are completely immersed in their discussion, and pay no mind to Momo.

“I can’t be the one to distract her. You think I can lie to my best friend and she won’t see right through me?”

“You’re a great liar—you’ve lived your whole life without people finding out you’re just five bats in a trenchcoat.”

“I can lie to you and your two brain cells but not to _Mina_ —she knows everything about me. And it’s been hard enough for me to avoid her—”

Momo, now, is the one who has to interject, only barely concealing her horror. “You’re her best friend and you’re avoiding her, too?”

“Will you relax?” Nayeon directs impatiently. “You could count on the fingers of one hand how many times in a year Mina sees her own family members—she’s fine handling distance, believe me.”

Not even remotely assuaged, Momo tries, again, and is just as unsuccessful: “you know, I’m okay talking to her if you guys just—”

Their perfectly-timed response—a very forceful and annoyed “no, Momo!”—fuels Momo to grunt a complaint under her breath.

“Fine. I’ll take first shift,” Jeongyeon complies moodily, much to Nayeon’s satisfaction and Momo’s aggravation. “But you need to find someone else to do it after lunch because I have somewhere to be. And don’t think you can boss me around just because I’m agreeing to do this.”

Nayeon dismisses that last assertion with ease. “Why are you resisting this so much? I have a feeling you _like_ taking orders.” She’s pestering Jeongyeon, yes, and Jeongyeon’s ensuing glare is far from amused, but there’s an undercurrent tone in the whole thing that Momo can’t identify. And then, not a minute later, she and Nayeon are exiting the library as Nayeon grumbles darkly, “I’m guessing you never got the book you were supposed to get. I guess for once I'm not going to be the slacker in the group project--who would have thought?”

-

Momo imagines that the ridiculous lengths Nayeon and Jeongyeon are undergoing to keep her and Mina from talking or crossing paths can’t possibly be sustained. She’s wrong.

Two minutes into lunch period, as they rendezvous behind the auditorium, the same scandal takes place when Jeongyeon and Nayeon brief Sana on the latest occurrence and Momo can’t tell what, exactly, is heating her face—irritation or embarrassment.

“And then apparently they bumped into each other at the library and Momo almost told her about the operation—”

“ _What!_ Momo, you can’t tell Myoui about this! There’s literally a letter from her sitting on top of the principal’s desk, asking the administration to take down the Myoui sign—who do you think they’re going to interrogate when the letters are stolen?!”

Dahyun and Chaeyoung join the group while Momo is trying to massage a headache from her temples.

“So we decided we have to keep the two of them away, by distracting Mina and keeping track of where the two of them are,” Jeongyeon sums up while Nayeon nods besides her. “I was distracting Mina this morning but I have to go to the lab with Tzuyu—”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot you guys are doing the same nerd internship together,” Nayeon comments lightly, and a befuddled Momo realizes she and Jeongyeon, of all people, are sharing a bag of chips.

“Okay, I can take over from here,” Sana assents, business-like and determined. “What’s the info on Myoui?”

“She’s kind of introverted and likes games and dance. We talked a lot about the cheer squad, and we think that instead of designing the uniforms with the JYP logo or the SM logo and risking making some squad members unhappy, we should just rename the whole squad Twice, since we kind of doubled in size. Anyway, she’s really nice, actually,” Jeongyeon shrugs, prompting both Dahyun and Chaeyoung to call out in unison, “we told you!” Acknowledging the interruption with a nod, Jeongyeon adds, “and really hard to lie to. Good luck.”

“Seriously, I really think I could talk to her without—” a feeble Momo murmurs, already anticipating the ensuing rejection, which turns out to be just as merciless as she expected.

“NO, MOMO!”

-

Ultimately, the girls’ effort is successful. The rest of Momo’s day is devoid of any contact with Mina, which is supremely depressing but understandably necessary, as Momo is less and less sure now that she could lie to Mina if the girl actually asked her about her plans for Thursday night.

With one last afternoon left to practice the operation and all the required materials, the eight girls gather in Nayeon’s extensive backyard.

“Okay, so the letters each weigh 12 kilograms, and we have 5 letters to steal,” Jihyo summarizes, as all the other girls study their respective copies of the mission brief. “We need two people on the roof who will carry the letters downstairs, and pass them on to someone waiting on the ground level, who will then pass the letters to the getaway driver.” She surveys the circle of girls around her and lists off, summarizing their scheme so far, “Chaeyoung will be inside the car, hacking the cameras; Momo is the getaway driver; Dahyun and I will be inside the auditorium, serving detention and also being the interior look-outs; Sana will be the outside look-out, since she’s the student body president so she has keys to all the buildings and can wander around and not raise any suspicion. That leaves Tzuyu, Nayeon, and Jeongyeon without assignments. Which two of you want to be on the roof getting the letters, and which one wants to be on the ground?”

“There’s no way I’m going to be dangling myself off a building 30 feet from the ground,” Nayeon snorts instantly. “Jeongyeon can do it—her arms are longer than mine so she can carry things better.”

Jeongyeon shoots her a glower. “So? Your hands are bigger.”

“I already told you—don’t lust after my hands, please,” a smirking Nayeon rebuts easily, and Momo isn’t sure whether it’s actually there or she’s imagining it, a tiny crease on the corner of Jeongyeon’s mouth that looks like a bitten-back smile.

“Well, I guess I can be up in the roof,” Tzuyu calmly volunteers in a deed that is diametrically opposed to the reactions offered by the other two girls.

“Are you sure you want to be up there?” Jihyo poses quietly to Tzuyu, and watching the tender quality in their exchange feels almost like an intrusion. “That’s the most dangerous position to be in, and you’re a junior… if they get in trouble, at least they’re seniors and are about to graduate anyway.”

Less than a second passes before Nayeon jumps in. “Okay, we’re going to the roof.” She gestures decisively between her and Jeongyeon and elaborates, “Trashcan and I are volunteering, and you’re staying on the ground, Tzuyu.”

Momo had questioned before how Mina’s best friend could have ever been a girl whose most frequent comment on the JYP campus has been some variation of “it’s practically a post-apocalyptic wasteland; I feel like I’m in the set of _Mad Max_ ” and “God did not give me enough strength to attend school in these conditions.” Some of the negative sheen coating her opinion of Nayeon had dulled when she observed how protective she is of Mina and how intently she cares for her welfare, but Momo had figured this to be some kind of isolated incident, merely an indication that Nayeon’s meager amounts of goodness just happened to be focused on Mina. And now Momo is startled in realizing that Im Nayeon, whom Momo herself had termed “The Devil,” is actually a good friend.

And to her credit, a fleetingly pensive Jeongyeon seems to notice the same thing, and nods her agreement as well.

The peace lasts little more than a few seconds, however, because Nayeon flips over her copy of the mission brief and immediately scoffs in derision.

“‘ _JYP’s Eight?_ ’” She rolls up her brief into a baton and points it accusingly at Chaeyoung, proceeding to ask everyone else, “can you guys please stop putting Pint-Size in charge of naming the operations? We are not JYP’s Eight. Three of us are SM students.”

“SM is currently an ashtray,” Jeongyeon points out.

“And SM might be reconstructed in time for Mina, Tzuyu, and I to graduate from there, but _you_ are going to graduate from JYP,” Jihyo reminds her with a pitying chuckle.

“Ugh—don’t remind me,” Nayeon gruffs in disgust. “Fine. We’ll be JYP’s Eight. But I get to decide our codenames, then.”

Jeongyeon cuts in immediately in opposition. “We are not getting codenames—we’re not twelve years ol—”

But, undeterred, Nayeon plows on, pointing to Momo and stating solemnly. “You—codename Felon With a Heart of Gold.”

Momo’s jaw drops.

“You—” Nayeon moves on briskly to Jeongyeon and signals her scorn with a glared, “codename Bane of My Existence.”

Jeongyeon turns to the sky and asks some unnamed deity, “why? Why did you let her be born?” while Nayeon is moving now to Jihyo with unhidden affection; “you—Future President of South Korea.”

Jihyo laughs, shaking her head with amusement, and Nayeon points to Sana this time; “you—How Did You Get Elected.”

Sana’s eyeroll is dampened by a smile that she’s unable to hide completely, while Nayeon shifts to the girl immediately beside Sana, Dahyun. “You—I Didn’t Like Your Girlfriend At First But You’re Pretty Great.”

Dahyun bursts out laughing, and leans on Momo for support to avoid doubling over. Nayeon turns to Tzuyu with the same fondness she directed at Jihyo. “You—Move Over Hadid Sisters There’s a New Supermodel In Town.” In response, Tzuyu hides a blush by tucking her face into Jihyo’s neck.

Nayeon’s attention is then honed in on Chaeyoung and Momo can’t wait to discover what codename is getting assigned this time. As is now the usual, Nayeon exceeds her expectations. “You—I Wouldn’t Know You Were Standing If No One Told Me.”

“Hey, I’m not that short!” Chaeyoung protests amid her own guffawing.

“And I,” Nayeon concludes serenely, as everyone continues to laugh and Jeongyeon throws a crumpled up paper in her direction, “will be Eagle One.”

-

Afternoon darkens into night as they spend hours rehearsing every last component of the operation. Dahyun holds a timer while Nayeon and Jeongyeon practice carrying their mock letters alternately up and down the Im’s stairwell, handing them off to Tzuyu, who hauls the letters off to a marked section in the backyard, measuring the exact distance between the bottom of the stairwell in the back of the auditorium, to where the getaway car will be. Jihyo organizes all their maps and equipment, buys extra gallons of gasoline and even more supplies for their operation. Chaeyoung, Momo, and Sana take a timer as well, and calculate how long it takes for them to drive from the school to Chaeyoung’s house, their designated hideout location, through a variety of different routes.

The entire effort takes them into the early hours of the morning, at which point all of them have consumed enough coffee and energy drinks to “see the future,” as Sana puts it. And when exhaustion finally overcomes them, the eight of them sprawl themselves on the luxurious cloud-like carpet of Nayeon’s bedroom. 

“I want to disappear inside this carpet and never come out,” Dahyun groans tiredly, and both Chaeyoung and Jihyo mumble back their own agreement.

Laying on her back with no plan but to soak in her fatigue, Momo spares an appraising glance around the space, at walls lined with pictures of Nayeon with [Tzuyu and Jihyo](https://66.media.tumblr.com/eb59c63b35b2b0fdece2e29096daafc4/tumblr_pd644qaTV61vymbnlo10_1280.jpg)… and [Mina](https://66.media.tumblr.com/f29c4e315b4ba96ca37e76908b266e9d/tumblr_pihiewWmPl1ryyzom_640.jpg).

[Mina](https://66.media.tumblr.com/12a519cb03254073d23699bb7cf1c9b8/tumblr_oo6dptQObZ1vao7e5o4_1280.jpg).

That familiar lurching in her chest shuts her eyes, because right now it’s almost as though she can hear Mina’s voice and smell her perfume and feel the warmth and weight of her hand, and she spent so long under the impression that Mina was an ocean wave that only reached up to her chest when in fact she was already underwater.

“I like her.” Momo blinks her eyes open and lets her head loll to the side, to face a tender-smiling Sana. “Mina. I saw it for myself today; she really is nice.”

Momo is drained, and that softens her voice. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I do. I think you found your person. Your Dahyun.”

That makes Momo laugh, low and gravelly. “Yeah… I hope so.”

Momo lets the distant, comforting sound of Nayeon and Jeongyeon’s bickering carry her into sleep.

“I really think insulting the likes of you adds years to my life expectancy.”

“I thought demonic beings were already immortal. Hey, did you really bake these rice cakes all by yourself?”

“Yep. And I seasoned them with the crushed hopes and dreams of my enemies.”

“They’re amazing. Did you use flames from hell or just your regular oven?”

“You know, sometimes I have hope for humanity, and other times, I remember you exist.”

-

With barely 3 hours of sleep to hold herself upright, Momo and the other exhausted girls make their way into class that Thursday morning with what Momo can only hope is undetectable apprehension. Only thirty minutes after classes are done, the mass detention session will start, and thus, their operation. Each second that ticks by piles another bit of worry onto Momo’s already-sizeable mountain.

The NaJeongMoSaJiDaChaeTzu group chat is unusually inactive, and it doesn’t take much for Momo to guess why. So much can go wrong. So much of their success depends on everything happening exactly as they planned and rehearsed, and the sheer enormity of the luck necessary to pull this off—it’s frightening.

-

The bell blares a dismissal for all students from sixth period and Momo slides off her chair immediately, unfaltering focus delivering her straight to the rendezvous point—the gymnasium annex—where everyone else is already waiting. Jihyo is the first to outstretch her hand, and throw the surrounding girls a meaningful look that draws everyone’s hand atop hers.

“What are we calling ourselves again?” Sana whispers, just as they all realize their group has no name.

“Twice,” Dahyun responds automatically, also whispering.

“I thought that was your cheer squad name,” Sana responds, and Dahyun sighs, acknowledging a mistake.

“Yeah, sorry—the sleep-deprivation made me think you were talking about the squad.”

“Well, we could call ourselves Twice, too. Our group also almost doubled in size. Now there are eight of us,” Chaeyoung reasons.

Her statement is immediately followed by Momo, Nayeon, Jihyo, and Tzuyu correcting in unison, “nine.”

Chaeyoung grins sheepishly. “I didn’t forget Mina; I’m just tired and have a C average in math.”

“Okay, so we have our name,” Jihyo confirms after a chuckle. “On three, then.”

Everyone joins in. “One, two, three—TWICE!”

-

First, Dahyun and Jihyo find out that they’re not allowed to sit themselves, and only Jihyo is able to grab a detention seat by one of the exits. Dahyun ends up sitting on the same side of the auditorium, and neither has a clear view of the exit on the opposite side of the expansive space.

Sana murmurs a reassurance through their radio communicator that she will keep post outside that uncovered exit, and both Momo and Chaeyoung, tucked into the dark getaway car parked in the empty street behind the delinquent spot, breathe a sigh of relief.

But then, Nayeon and Jeongyeon get stuck in the four-story stairwell, of which they inform everyone through annoyed radio chatter, audible through everyone’s discreet earphones.

 **[NY]** _There’s like some pipe thing blocking our path_  
**[JY]** _Why are you pressed up against me?_  
**[NY]** _You think I’d be this close to you if I had the option not to be? Don’t insult me_

Chaeyoung turns to Momo to whisper, “are they flirting or fighting? I can't tell anymore.” And all Momo can provide as a response is a shrug, because lately she’s been posing herself the same question and hasn’t arrived at a conclusion yet.

The two do manage to clear the stairwell with Tzuyu’s help, and then the worst happens once they arrive at the roof.

 **[NY]** _Motherfucker!_  
**[JY]** _Shit! This is not good!_  
**[SN]** _What happened?_  
**[NY]** _The letters are welded together!_  
**[JY]** _It’s impossible to take one out at a time like we practiced_  
**[NY]** _So we have to take all of them AND the huge plaque they’re welded to and the whole thing weighs like two hundred fucking kilograms_

An upsurge of panic has Momo’s blood running cold inside her veins. 

**[JY]** _We need more people to come up here; Satan and I can’t do it by ourselves_  
**[TZ]** _Okay, I’m on my way up_  
**[SN]** _So am I_  
**[NY]** _Did I mention this damn thing weighs as much as three people?_  
**[JY]** _There’s no one else to help us; Chae is doing the cameras, Dubu and Jihyo are inside the auditorium, and Momo has height phobia_

Momo’s hands push the car door open and her feet propel her up the stairwell before she even truly processes where she’s headed. 

**[NY]** _Please—she likes Mina. She’ll come up here if she needs to_  
**[JY]** _Momo isn’t as bad as Dubu but she still doesn’t even ride those see-through glass elevators because she thinks she’ll have a heart attack and she doesn’t want to die too many feet off the ground_

It’s only when she climbs the last step and emerges into the rooftop, catching sight of stars and city lights and her friends, hunched down by the ledge of the building, that she realizes what she’s just done.

“I told you!” Nayeon boasts, while Jeongyeon stares at her with a cryptic expression that’s like shock mixed with something else entirely.

Momo has to bring herself so closely to the edge of the façade to assist the others that she does, in fact, almost die. It’s only a mantra she chants in her mind that prevents her sanity from unspooling in a thousand different directions.

_This is for Mina this is for Mina this is for Mina this is for Mina_

They pour the concrete solvent down the edges of the plaque, successfully ungluing its entire length off from the wall. A herculean amount of combined strength is necessary to lift the plaque up to the roof and begin to haul it down the stairwell, where its substantial dimensions become even more inconvenient. Halfway through the painstaking effort, Jihyo and Dahyun join them, helping lift a corner of the plaque.

“We asked to take bathroom breaks, so we have about 10 minutes,” Jihyo explains breathlessly, indicating that the two more or less ran up the stairs.

A minute later, they find that Chaeyoung has joined them as well, explaining in a rush that she left the computer on auto-mode, even though she’s come across evidence of another hacker apparently trying to infiltrate the same network, which means, she emphasizes, “we have to finish this mission ASAP.”

All eight of them are breathless and—at least on Momo’s part—covered in sweat when they reach the delinquent spot, sparsely lit save from some far-off street lights. The getaway vehicle is within sight, but Momo is so drained that the short distance seems to stretch infinitely beyond however far their remaining energy can carry them. She also now has no idea whether they can even fit the plaque inside Jeongyeon’s car—they had planned to pile individual letters, after all.

“You almost dropped your side of the plaque!” Jeongyeon reprimands Nayeon as they all continue to trudge along the darkness. 

“I have the heaviest corner, you troll!” She adds with a grunt, “God, how the hell is her name so fucking heavy—”

“Maybe you’re also just weak or out-of-shape,” Jeongyeon pants tauntingly, and Momo truly has no idea from where these two are conjuring the energy to argue.

“And maybe you want to catch these fists, Yoo Jeongyeon.”

Momo and Dahyun are holding the front-facing edge of the plaque, but Dahyun is carrying her share of the weight and walking backwards, while Momo is the one facing forward. That’s why she’s the first to spot her. And, in what is almost a reenactment of last time, it’s like thunder again.

Momo sees Mina, and then she hears her.

“ _Momo?_ ”

Her name is called out with a flabbergasted tone, and it’s loud enough that everyone gasps and almost immediately drops the plaque.

“Mina?”

Everyone else freezes mid-step, proceeding to lower the plaque down to the grass, only to be greeted by a sight bizarre in several different levels: Mina, clad entirely in a black, sleek, tactical-looking military-style outfit, tailed by four enormous men donning the same gear. Momo wonders if she’s hallucinating having stepped into a literal action movie.

“What are you doing here?” a still-startled Momo questions.

“I was going to steal my name plaque off the auditorium. Oh my God—is that it?”

Blinking back a haze of shock, Momo turns to the plaque behind her, now resting on the ground, while Tzuyu is the one who awkwardly extends a reply.

“Yeah… we just… committed a heist.”

“Who the hell are those guys?” Nayeon motions, having moved on from stunned to merely intrigued.

“I hired them.” Mina, though, eyes fixed on the plaque, is still visibly shaken. “They’re former military operatives.”

“Myoui Mina! You hired a SWAT team to take your letters?!” This time, Nayeon is so taken aback as to sound demanding. 

“Oh, that’s why someone was messing with my network hacking,” Chaeyoung murmurs in slow realization.

That seems to draw Mina’s attention away from the plaque, and back to the girls in front of her. “I hired them because I thought you might try to do something to get the school to take down the letters, and I didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Well, yes,” Nayeon admits, throwing her hands up confessionally, “I was going to bulldoze this school to the ground, but the stealing was actually Momo’s idea.” 

Momo had so intently been following their exchange that now she’s caught off-guard at having been pulled into their attention. And her stomach almost evaporates up into her throat when Mina turns to her.

“Really? This was your idea?”

The fact that she’s legitimately surprised, and Momo is well-aware of how little Mina expects from people—it sends a little pang through Momo’s heart, even when she’s otherwise flooded by embarrassment. 

“Um, well, it was really a collaborative effort—” she tries, but apparently no one is on her side on this.

“No, it wasn’t—”

“—completely her idea—”

“—wouldn’t leave it alone—”

“—emotionally blackmailed us into doing this—”

“—obviously, we know you now and totally would’ve done it even without Momo—”

“—so hard to say no to her, you know; her puppy dog face, you’ll be seeing lots of it, believe me—”

Momo wants to throw herself against a wall with how _completely unhelpful_ her friends are being, but then, as she’s halfway through a deep, life-questioning cringe, she finally, finally, is brave enough to look up at Mina. 

And all she sees inside her eyes is certainty. It’s brightened by happiness, made clearer by gratitude, but most of it is certainty. Momo herself had a question before, and Mina was the answer. Now, she wonders if Mina had her own question. She wonders if she can be Mina’s answer, too.

“Thank you so much, guys, for doing this,” Mina breathes out, vacillating a bit with emotion. “I don’t know how to tell you how indebted I feel.”

Everyone offers some sheepish acknowledgement of her gratitude, ranging from Nayeon’s “you know how those asshole students were joking that you were going to buy the school and put your name on all the buildings or whatever horsecrap? You totally should do it—” to Sana’s “that’s the worst advice I’ve ever heard—listen, Mina; the 9 of us committed a crime together so we’re friends now. Sorry; I don’t make the rules.”

“Now that that’s settled,” Nayeon reminds moodily afterwards, “can we, like, move? My arms are falling off.”

Mina snaps into action, motioning to the men behind her. “They’ll carry it to my transport vehicle. Where were you guys going to put the plaque?”

“In Jeongyeon’s sedan,” Chaeyoung replies bluntly, prompting everyone to take one last wary, apprising look at the queen-mattress-sized concrete enormity being picked up effortlessly by Mina’s hired men. “You know, I really don’t think it would have fit.”

“You _think?_ ” Jeongyeon shoots back sarcastically.

Nine girls resume their trek back toward the street immediately behind the school. Momo chances a glance at Mina, walking beside her. Her contentment with their success, with getting to contribute to Mina’s happiness, is so deep and so wide that Momo could lose herself in it if she really tried to measure it.

After they watch the plaque’s loading into Mina’s massive military-equipped vehicle, Dahyun and Jihyo rush back to the auditorium to finish their detention punishment, and Jeongyeon muses, “guys, you know the most unbelievable part of what we just did? The fact that one of Momo’s ideas actually worked.”

-

On Friday morning, as they predicted would take place once the theft was discovered, Mina is interrogated by the principal and other members of the district administration. Momo and the others rehearsed with Mina exactly what she should say—that she has no idea who pulled off the heist and that she was at home last evening—so none of them are implicated. Mina, however, does precisely none of what they agreed on. As she relays to them matter-of-factly after she’s released from the administration office, “they said they had already filed a police report to initiate an investigation and were going to review footage from hidden surveillance equipment, and I thought maybe Chaeyoung wasn’t able to hack _all_ the cameras and you guys would get caught and get in trouble. So, since I would’ve done it anyway if you guys hadn’t beaten me to it, I just told them that I was the one who stole the letters.”

Momo’s heart flops over in dismay, but it’s Nayeon’s reaction that could make any passerby believe the world was ending.

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

-

By second period, the entire school has heard the news that Myoui Mina stole the letters of her own last name off the auditorium, pissing off practically the entire school district administration. The taunting, the hisses, the under-breath insults, it all finally stops.

-

On Saturday morning, Momo commences her shift at The Thai-Tanic in a lighter mood than usual. Last night, all nine of them watched a movie in the Chous’ acre-sized residence. Mina taught Momo how to play a phone survival game and Momo and the other girls almost passed out from laughter recounting the trials and tribulations of planning and carrying out Operation JYP’s Eight. Momo spent the entire night hyper-aware of Mina and of their closeness, and the entire world smelled like Mina and happiness afterwards.

She’s in the kitchen’s storage room to retrieve a bag of flour, when she hears one of the managers summoning her. This is a small annoyance, as she still has about a dozen materials to gather and any delays now have the potential to become delays in the actual food-service, but Momo sighs impatiently and makes her way to the main kitchen area anyway.

And then she almost trips on her feet and faints.

“Momo, this is our new temp worker. Myoui Sharon.”

Holy. Shit.

Mina smiles at her, openly cheerful, and Momo’s arms drop sloppily to her sides because HOLY SHIT, she can’t believe what her eyes are conveying to her brain.

“Oh, and don’t worry—we checked up on her and she’s not one of _those_ Myouis.”

Momo opens and closes her mouth a few times, then gives up because her lungs aren’t supplying her with enough air to continue her existence, let alone talk.

“We already briefed her on her schedule, so just show her around and train her for today.”

Mina glances at the doorway when the manager steps out, then immediately turns back to Momo with a still-widening grin and quips, “so, do I look familiar?”

Momo managed not to faint a minute ago, but she seriously almost does now, because hearing Mina is additional proof that she’s actually here, and not a mirage she’s conjured. And her voice... this is the voice that matters, isn't it; the voice that will matter the most to her for a very, very long time.

“Oh my God,” she breathes out in awe. “Mina, how did you get the job?” she asks incredulously, although she’s not sure this is what she truly would like to know.

“I can give a good job interview, Momo,” Mina retorts with a chuckle, and of course, leave it to Mina to think Momo is criticizing her job market skills. “It comes with the name.”

Momo’s arms hang limply at her side; she’s still in disbelief, still processing Mina being here, in front of her. “You didn’t tell the manager about your security detail and who you actually are and all that, huh.”

“I omitted certain important facts, yes. When you look up Sharon Myoui, nothing comes up.” Mina looks immensely pleased with herself in an adorable way, and the sight of it wraps itself around Momo like a blanket.

But she’s still curious. Because a Myoui working in a fast-food restaurant—this is one of those things one could only see in some fevered dream, not in real life. “Have you ever, um, worked in a restaurant?”

That question shouldn’t surprise Mina—surely the manager asked, but then again, Mina may have talked her way around that—and it doesn’t, but it makes her bashful when she responds, “um... not really, no.”

“Have you ever cooked anything?”

Mina shakes her head self-consciously and Momo tries very, very hard not to laugh.

“Washed a dish?”

A blush spreads down from Mina’s cheeks to her neck and Momo’s stomach flips inside her. “Um, no.”

“Ever cleaned anything, ever?”

“No, but I’ve seen people do it. In movies.” Momo has to laugh at that; there’s no possible way to keep a serious face. Mina smiles at her obvious amusement but adds nonetheless, “you know, the ad said that you guys provide ‘on-the-job training.’”

“Well, yeah; for making Thai food, not...” Momo trails off, sighing and honestly wondering whether she’s ever felt this attracted to anyone in her entire life. “Um, not cleaning and things like that.”

The corners of the kitchen begin to stretch away from them as Mina explains softly, “it’s just that you told me a few times about how short-staffed your restaurant is. And I heard from someone that you were working extra hours to save up money for one of the, um... auction items.” Oh _fuck_. She knows. If Momo weren’t sort of hypnotized by Mina’s earnest confession, she’d already be on her way to Jeongyeon’s house with every necessary tool of torture. “So I thought I could help you.”

Over the years, Momo has gotten a lot better at putting her feelings into words, but this is so big and daunting that it makes her terrified that she’ll do this all wrong, this thing she wants so badly to get right, with the person who’s now filling so perfectly all those spaces in her heart Momo had left vacant for someone she just hadn’t met yet.

Holding her feelings inside her eyes, Momo hurls herself over the barrier of her insecurity, and tries to say it without saying it, giving Mina an out if it turns out that she has delusionally constructed this entire world out of unrequited feelings. “I, um, really like this auction item. I like it so much.” Her pulse beats at the base of her throat, just above the dip of her collarbone, as she waits for Mina to understand. “For a long time, actually.” That last part, she throws in despite the persistent fear that she’s just exposed all her nerves, muscles, and veins; she throws it in as a last-second attempt to admit, I’ve been in this spot since I met you; I’ve been waiting for you; I hope you’ve been waiting for me, too.

Momo holds her breath, and it’s only through an immense effort of will that she doesn’t just bolt out of the door. Another blush blooms in Mina’s cheeks and Momo waits, just one last time, and then no longer has to.

“That auction item likes you, too.”

And the words, all strung together with nervousness and hope—it’s the same hope Momo’s been carrying; she recognizes it like she knows the lines of her own hand—they’re almost whispered, a low, sparse voice cast into the expanse of the kitchen and the steps that separate them. But they’re loud to Momo. She hears them like a shout, a call to action.

“Mina, where are your security people?”

Mina, caught off-guard, doesn’t immediately follow her in the brusque change of subject.

“Um, around the block and on the roof.”

_Don’t faint don’t faint don’t faint_

“Listen, when your bodyguards tackle me, I’d really appreciate it if you told them not to break any bones because I need them for dancing.”

Mina’s frown deepens. She queries, still soft when she’s confused, “what?”

Momo is already stepping forward, has already stepped forward, is already there. For all the fear and anxiety and wondering whether she would die buried under the weight of her insecurities, this is easy. Kissing Mina is very, very easy. It’s a warm press of lips and a subsequent small noise of surprise. It’s noticing that Mina’s lips are curving—she’s smiling while she kisses her back, she’s actually smiling, and Momo wants to smile at her, too. It’s wanting to ask Mina whether she knows, by any chance, how it can be possible that Mina’s hand is only touching her forearm and yet Momo is feeling it in her entire body. It’s wanting to live inside this feeling forever. And it’s better, even, than what she imagined that day in the library, it’s so much better.

Then, she remembers. And drawing on enough willpower that could have enabled her to single-handledly carry that plaque on Thursday, Momo steps back.

“Where are they?” she asks, now a little more hesitant because surely they’re going to kick down the doors at any minute, right?

Mina is grinning at her; puzzled, yes, but apparently also delighted. “Who?”

“Your bodyguards.”

She actually laughs at Momo’s question; _laughs_ , and the sound of that, paired with the still-fresh lingering sensation of Mina’s lips on hers, is stronger than every drop of liquor Momo has ever consumed. She could hear this laugh and do absolutely anything for Mina, she knows this.

“They’re not coming in. I promise.” Her reassurance is light and honest but Momo is still unsure. “The sensor is off. I don’t really keep it on when I’m with you.”

Something warm spills over and pours over her heart. Momo’s happiness is so enormous and boundless that it almost bends the world around her, has Momo worrying that it’s making her unable to fit inside her own skin.

“Momo.”

Three steps are separating them. They seem excessive now, when there weren’t any at all only a half-minute ago. 

“Yeah?”

From three steps away, Mina smiles at Momo like she has a kiss waiting for her.

“Come back. Please.”

Momo immediately goes back. In excitement, in anticipation, because Mina is going to kiss her again and it’s going to be amazing. And Mina indeed has a kiss waiting for her, but also another one, and another one, and it becomes even easier to kiss her each time, like Momo’s lips were made for her, for this.

“I can’t believe you’re going to be working here,” Momo breathes out, a little scandalized, when Mina pulls back with a grin. “You’re a Myoui! You probably own this entire block—wait, do you own the entire block?”

That makes Mina laugh again; the high from getting to be the cause for her laughter is going to be an addiction for Momo, she can tell already.

“No, I don’t think we own it. I didn’t check, actually.” Momo realizes she’s holding Mina’s hand only when Mina glances down beside them and then smiles at the sight. “And someone told me once that ‘Myoui’ is just a name, and I could do anything I wanted.”

The words, the smile, they fill Momo’s chest. 

“Momo, can I ask you something?” Mina requests quietly, and Momo nods, distantly aware that she needs to resume her job duties and yet supremely uninclined to do so. Now that she knows she can touch Mina, she never wants to stop; now that she knows she can be this close to her, she never wants to step away. “Are you really working more hours to win me at the auction—”

Oh crap—Momo cringes with embarrassment instantly. “Mina, it’s not a big deal—”

Mina, of course, is completely serious and firm, unwilling to let Momo interject; “—because if you are, please stop; don’t spend your hard-earned income to bid on a date—”

“—it’s nothing, really; don’t worry about it—”

“—when you could just ask me.”

That shuts Momo up.

“Just ask me. If you want.” Momo spots a subtle but nonetheless visible effort from Mina to seem a lot more confident about this statement than she actually is, and the thought that Mina would still be insecure about Momo wanting to go out with her makes something catch in Momo’s throat.

“I do want that.” Mina’s immediate beam, equal parts relief and elation, pulls at the corners of Momo’s lips. “But I also need you to quit this job.”

That relief shifts, seamlessly, into surprise. “Really? Why? Do you think I’m not going to be good at this?”

“No, not because of that,” Momo reassures, focus withering away with the way Mina is—probably absentmindedly—tapping a gentle rhythm onto Momo’s hand with her fingers. “You’re just going to be really terrible for my productivity and I’m going to be fired.” Her frankness is amusing enough that Mina gasps out a laugh; Momo continues with a wince, “I’m serious. See how I’m looking at you right now? I’m actually trying to look away, but I can’t; you’re so distracting.”

“Okay, I’ll quit. But I have to work at least a week, per my contract.” A whole week of having Mina around… if Momo manages to make it through without sending out too many wrong orders or burning the whole kitchen down, she’ll consider that a win. “Once I find out how many detention days I’m getting, I might have to adjust my work hours.”

Mina kisses Momo’s cheek without any prompting or warning, as though fueled by an impulse that she didn’t fight, and Momo lets herself get lost in the sensation with a smile of her own. She recovers just in time to joke, “I forgot you’re officially a criminal now; I wonder what your mentor would say about that,” only to get swatted in the arm by Mina.

-

The NaJeongMoSaJiMiDaChaeTzu group chat name lasts for exactly five minutes before Dahyun complains that the name is long enough to take up her whole phone screen. Chaeyoung renames it ‘TWICE’ and Sana has the honor of inaugurating it not long after.

 **[SN | 1:10]** _OMG_  
**[SN | 1:10]** _MINA BROKE A RECORD_  
**[JH | 1:11]** _most consecutive hours spent playing a single video game?_  
**[JY | 1:11]** _most patience in dealing with annoying girls whose names rhyme with Tim Mayeon?_  
**[NY | 1:11]** _SAY THAT TO MY FACE YOO JEONGYEON_  
**[TZ | 1:11]** _most consecutive hours spent laying in bed?_  
**[MN | 1:12]** _you guys know I’m in this group chat too right_  
**[SN | 1:12]** _no you fools_  
**[SN | 1:12]** _mina got 30 DAYS OF DETENTION !!!!!!_  
**[CY | 1:12]** _you know time in the detention dungeon passes by differently so that’s actually like 20 years in the regular world_  
**[MN | 1:12]** _oh yes, I was going to tell you guys about that_  
**[DH | 1:12]** _she just had to tell momo first_  
**[JY| 1:13]** _watch momo try to do the detention sessions for her so she doesn’t have to do it_  
**[CY | 1:13]** _or get in trouble on purpose to go to detention with her_  
**[MM | 1:14]** _you all know I’m also in this group chat right_

-

** THE PRESENT **

_I’m fighting a war, Momo._

_[Momo.](https://66.media.tumblr.com/6eae62d5368926be6526b3754d2c444f/tumblr_pecvx8I7iO1ryyzom_250.jpg) _

_[Momo.](https://66.media.tumblr.com/7959669dacf9edd8957ff3268242be14/tumblr_oda4e4bc741rsfpwlo8_250.gif) _

Mina wakes.

-

Perhaps because she had been so overcome with embarrassment when she first received the dating consultancy brochure, Mina initially spared barely more than a few revolted glances across each of its pages. Then, once she had her first appointment and realized her assigned consultant was Momo, she’d been too shocked and too horrified to remember that the brochure even _existed_ , let alone that it delineated precisely the entire program, session by session.

Which is why she was completely unprepared to walk into her office this morning and catch sight of Momo patiently awaiting her inside, seemingly caught off-guard at having to explain that today is her “shadowing” day, during which she will accompany Mina in all her engagements and meetings, the better to understand the demands of her job and the pace of her day-to-day life. They’re 5 minutes into Mina’s morning schedule and the mere idea promises to be the most bizarre experience she’s ever endured in her (admittedly short) existence. For perhaps the thousandth time in the past two weeks, she wonders, equally dumbfounded and disbelieving, what sort of nightmarish reality she’s in that she’s actually agreed to have Momo follow her through every one of her commitments for an entire work day.

“At ten, you have a remote conference with the board from the Eastern Europe branch,” her assistant reads off from Mina’s fully-booked schedule for the day, while Mina herself is still settling into her desk, half of her energy dedicated solely to curbing her body’s panic-like reaction to having Momo also in the room. “At eleven thirty, you have a lunch meeting with the tech unit from Boston…”

Of course, none of this would be as terrifying as it is had last week not happened. She’s wondered what the fallout will be from the incident at Nayeon and Jeongyeon’s engagement party, the first time in 5 years she and Momo had actually broached the subject of their break-up; wondered whether that unaddressed tension will spill over and stain every subsequent interaction she ever has with Momo; wonders, even now, what will change in their dynamic.

“You also have that on-site meeting this afternoon, and the director of acquisitions has requested...”

Mina momentarily tunes off the schedule briefing to throw an uneasy glance over at Momo, who’s chosen to stand a few feet from the main entrance door, apparently immersed in something on her tablet. The extensive glass panels encasing the office space allow the morning sun’s delicate veil of light to bathe the office in warmth, and had this been any other day, Mina would have enjoyed the pleasant weather a bit more. Had this been any other day, Mina would have probably allowed herself at least a few minutes to take in the white-gold canvas of the 8am sky. Had this been any other day, Mina would have been preparing herself for the customary push-and-shove characteristic of her meetings, usually her sole source of stress in her everyday routine.

This, however, is not a regular day, and try as she might, her frantic mind can’t come up with a good plan to survive the next ten hours short of faking some sudden, life-threatening illness. 

“… are providing the numbers, so they’ll be ready by early afternoon.”

She’s pondering how much alcohol she could ingest without impairing her logical thinking too much, when her attention is snatched back by a particular excerpt of her assistant’s briefing.

“… and the community center you donated to last week has requested to express its appreciation by dedicating one of its buildings to you, in your name—” 

Every other thought meandering inside her mind evaporates, clearing way for an instant ‘ _nope nope nope please not another building._ ’

“No, thank you,” Mina affirms brusquely, temporarily disregarding her manners with the interruption. “I’ll draft a note of gratitude and respectfully decline the gesture.”

Mina can sense Momo’s gaze reaching her from ten feet away, and is dismayed by the sudden discovery that her assistant, newly-promoted and assigned to her, cannot yet read into the tension she knows she’s let seep into her voice. 

“Ms. Myoui, it’s customary to place commemorative plaques for donors—”

This time, Mina can’t rein in the impulse to look over at Momo, and the sight doesn’t disappoint her: Momo is indeed watching her, pursing her lips carefully while her eyes gleam and betray an urge to laugh. When their gazes meet, Momo raises a bemused eyebrow and seems to ask her, is your assistant really asking you this? And as a sort of reaction to that instant, dull pang that follows every accidental recollection of something she did, or had, or was, with Momo, there’s a part of Mina that wants to flee from this room, so she won’t have to keep confronting their shared history.

She responds instead with a dejected sigh as she turns back to her assistant. “Yes, I’m aware that’s a common practice,” she says quietly; at this, her assistant frowns but nods nonetheless. “Thank you. But the note will suffice. No name plaques, please.”

“Oh, and one last thing, Ms. Myoui,” the assistant mumbles, examining her tablet again. “There’s a note on your schedule today about an appointment with a consultant and apparently it’s for the whole day.”

“Yes; that’s me,” Momo jumps in brightly, emerging from her corner of the office and startling the assistant. “Hi. Hirai Momo.” It’s still strange to watch Momo introduce herself in a professional capacity, but Mina can’t focus on that, because the reminder of why Momo is here to begin with seems to be summoning a most robust of headaches into her temples.

The assistant departs and some subconscious urge has Mina turning to Momo, who’s now visibly focused on typing something into her tablet as every shade of the sunrise seems to be framing her. Another subconscious urge raises Mina’s hand to her collarbone, presses it into her chest, and she feels the familiar emptiness thrumming back against her palm. It’s a whole other language, she thinks, the pattern her heartbeats took on after the break-up, a language of stillness and longing that just keeps echoing deeper and deeper and deeper…

As the attendees for her first meeting course in, Momo settles down inconspicuously into a couch in a farther area of her office. 

_‘Just pretend I’m not here,’_ she mouths with a nod, and Mina braces herself for the day ahead.

-

It turns out that following Momo’s instruction is not as difficult as Mina had anticipated. That’s partly because Momo is so discreet (Mina truly believes she never moved from her corner of the office), and partly because Mina’s schedule is so over-packed with meetings, video conferences, and phone calls that each hour seems to blur over into the next one, and into the one after that.

At one point, Mina actually forgets Momo is there—she’s immersed in a stock projection chart displayed on one of her wall-sized screens, and as she requests a follow-up report for data from the previous quarter and concludes yet another meeting, Momo startles her just as her office door closes and she sinks back into her chair.

“Do you ever take any breaks?” The question is neutral-toned, but Mina stiffens nonetheless, and Momo softens apologetically. “Sorry; didn’t mean to scare you. I just ate the lunch I packed but I haven’t seen you take any breaks, not even to eat that food that got dropped off for you.”

Right—it’s early afternoon and there’s an entire meal resting on another table of her office, prepared by the company’s in-house chef, waiting for her consume it. Nodding, Mina texts her assistant to hold off her next meeting for the next half-hour, and makes her way to the table. 

“Thank you for reminding me,” Mina says, a bit more quietly than she had intended. “Sometimes I forget, and usually my assistant reminds me.”

“That’s a new assistant, right? Different from the one I met last time I was here.”

This table is a lot closer to Momo than her desk, so once Mina sits down, she realizes that they’re now at a conversational distance.

“Yes, I promoted my last one, so she can be my assistant when I take over operations at our headquarters in Tokyo,” Mina discloses after she chews the first forkful of her seafood dish. Then, she pauses.

It’s not that this is news to anyone; everyone in their inner circle has been aware of Mina’s impending move back to Japan, and Momo knows, too—if not through their mutual friends, then presumably through Mina’s file with the dating company, this being the entire reason the program has been so significantly compressed.

It’s not news, but it feels awful suddenly, to speak of it so casually, as though she doesn’t have people and memories anchoring her here. She was in the US for four years, before touching down in Osaka for a few months and ultimately returning to Seoul to live and work here for the past year. And sometimes she’s wondered whether each move made her more whole and more well-rounded through the aggregated measure of her experiences in each country. Sometimes she’s wondered the opposite; whether she’s just been leaving pieces of herself behind in each city, the less to carry, the less to hurt with. Even without ever quite settling on which of these is closer to the truth, and despite the transient quality of her life, there was one constancy she counted on: her feelings, for her friends and for Momo. The former reminded her of who she was, and supplied her with strength when her fear of failure was so acute that it felt as though it would shut her body down. The latter followed her everywhere, even when—or especially when—she wished they didn’t, because that first stretch of time after Momo… 

That first year, that first grey-cold morning, that first lungful of air she drew afterwards, it felt like grief.

Yes, she’s scattered pieces of herself in every place she’s moved to and then subsequently moved _from_ , and a flicker of curiosity asks her which piece she’s going to leave behind this time.

Right now, Momo’s expression is unreadable in a terribly unsettling way; out of some inexplicable impulse to explain herself, Mina amends, digging through her quinoa and hoping to conceal her nervousness through the movement, “a Myoui always sits on the board and my father is retiring, so that’s why I’m going. It was always the plan for me to take over in Tokyo; being here in Seoul was a sort of warm-up.”

“Do you actually want...” Momo begins lowly, voice a little sad around the edges, but trails off almost immediately and heads off in another direction, readying her tablet to take notes. “So, are your days always this hectic?”

“No, actually… today has been busier than usual. I had to make up for losing a whole work day yesterday,” Mina answers, deliberately moving past Momo’s initial partial sentence. “I had a transportation issue.”

To her surprise, Momo actually chuckles. “Yeah, I heard your plane had to make an emergency landing in a tiny airport in the countryside because of some military test thing.”

A tinge of frustration creeps into her tone. “My public relations liaison had to manage some kind of bad headline from that… something about me not doing well when I’m among ‘regular people.’”

And now Momo is shifting through something in her phone with a thoroughly entertained smile. “Did you see the picture someone took of you? The one that was on that headline?”

Frowning, Mina shakes her head. “No, I don’t usually look at news about me.”

“Yeah, I used to avoid stuff about you, to be completely honest,” Momo admits, still too amused by something on her phone to notice that she’s veering dangerously close to talking about them, and the aftermath of not being a ‘them’ anymore. “But now that you’re my client, I had to set up alerts for every news about you. So I got this...”

Momo stands from the couch to take a seat across from her at the table, and extends her phone to allow Mina to catch sight of [a picture](https://66.media.tumblr.com/4a0c7baee0cb7c82c979a3fb3408e5c0/tumblr_pe9hjcC3pB1wp9e8so2_1280.jpg) in which she looks supremely displeased. Yep—she basically wrote that headline herself with that expression. And as her eyes sweep over the rest of the article, it becomes quite clear that the usual narrative is being rehashed here: that while the jury is still out on whether she’s even remotely capable of heading the massive corporation with which she’s being entrusted, it’s a long-settled certainty that she’s spoiled and disconnected from the realities of the world. Indignation swells up, steaming up inside her at the unfairness of it all; she’s the only Myoui who graduated from a public high school and the only Myoui who ever held a minimum-wage job, and she shouldn’t care, she _doesn’t_ care, except sometimes she does, because all she’s ever wanted was to live up to her name, and the things she’s done that have pulled her closer to the world of “regular people” are precisely the things that have made her unable to fit in with her own family. The continual insecurity of not belonging anywhere, of not being claimed by anyone, has morphed through the years into an uncomfortable and mild ache inside her, like steady pressure applied on a bruise.

She perhaps loses track of how long she stares at that headline, but it’s sufficiently long that she blinks in surprise when Momo quips, “can I just say that it’s kind of amazing how the face you make when you’re annoyed hasn’t changed at all?”

Her exasperation had started to curl inward while simultaneously stretching outward but it vanishes completely at Momo’s lively and engaging tone. Unwillingly, she’s reminded that this is what Momo would do before to soothe Mina’s occasional bouts of resentment—distract her through a joke. That Momo noticed her irritation and decided to employ the same tactic, and that it works now, just as effectively as it used to, all of it is discouraging, to say the least. 

“Yes,” Mina agrees, determined now to match Momo’s easy-going approach to their conversation, to find a rhythm in their interactions that won’t make her hurt. “Dahyun’s told me before that my resting bitch face hasn’t gotten better with time.”

“This reporter is asking a good question though—can you? Do things like regular people?”

There’s a slight chance this is a question for her profile, but Momo’s ill-hidden glint of teasing indicates otherwise, so Mina lifts an indignant eyebrow and retorts, “I know exactly what you’re remembering and let me just tell you that in college, no one knew who I was, and I actually lived in the dorms with the _regular_ students—”

Momo starts laughing and tries to interrupt; “there’s no way you actually—”

“—and I cleaned and cooked and did everything the other students were doing.” The fact that Momo is still laughing tugs a laugh out of her, too, but she persists against Momo’s humored incredulity. “Really—ask Nayeon.”

“Nayeon would lie for you.”

That’s a good point—Nayeon absolutely would.

“Then ask Sana. She saw it firsthand.”

“She’d lie for you, too,” Momo counters, grinning now, and that this entire scene would have been unimaginable only two weeks ago is evidence of what changed between them after their talk at the beach. It’s also exhilarating and terrifying, because she’s asked herself before what it would take to awaken every 5-year-old feeling she’s forced into dormancy. And really, this answers that: not much. The voice coming from the part of her that loves Momo used to be the loudest and she’s smothered it over the years and made it into the softest, almost entirely mute. “They would all lie for you.” She hasn’t heard the voice in a long time. It’s going to start shouting at her again if she doesn’t stop talking to Momo like this.

“Then you’ll just have to believe me,” Mina replies instead, smiling back.

Momo leans forward, obviously not as intimidated by the resurrection of their easy familiarity. Mina, on the other hand, almost balks at the sudden proximity. “You know, I always knew they visited you a lot—they’d all mysteriously be out of the country all at once and would come up with some ridiculous story of why.”

Mina knows about this all too well, and adds, looking down at her plate and rearranging her vegetables uneasily, “yeah, I know; sometimes all seven would tell me they were all simultaneously unavailable for something, so I always figured they were doing something with you.”

A beat of silence draws Mina’s attention upwards; Momo finds her gaze and holds it, smile faded off a bit but there, nonetheless. 

“We should have stayed friends.”

The office and the world underneath it seem to still, as the same urge sparks off through the muscles of the same hand, wants to raise it to the same place as before. The same pain laces the inside of her veins.

Friends.

Her mind pauses at the word; turns it over in her head, weighs and examines it from all sides.

She has no idea what it’s like to be Momo’s friend. Even aside from Nayeon’s comments back in high school about “the love-at-first-sight thing you have going on with Momo,” Mina can’t remember any time in her life during which her feelings for Momo were purely platonic. All the maps she ever drew for the life she wanted led to Momo, and she’s held on to these maps even while she wandered aimlessly from place to place, person to person, unwilling to confirm that fact she’s been so afraid of, that once she and Momo broke up, these maps started leading to nowhere in particular. The reason she can’t remember what it’s like not to be in love with Momo is because she’s not entirely sure she ever _wasn’t_.

“I’m sorry that we didn’t stay friends,” Momo continues, as earnest now as she was when she was a teenager. It’s incredible how little Momo has changed.

At this, a parallel conversation emerges from a previously-concealed space in Mina’s thoughts; all the things she wishes she could tell Momo, but that she won’t, and never will, because she can’t.

She doesn’t say what she can’t say; she doesn’t say, you broke up with me, you’re the one who didn’t want me.

Instead, she smothers down that parallel conversation immediately.

“There were times when I wanted to talk to you,” Mina replies, softly and carefully. Momo’s attentiveness encourages her to elaborate. “Just… you, not as, um, my ex. Just you.”

There were also times when Mina wanted to open herself up, cut herself open, so Momo could reach in and take back everything she placed inside her when they were together, but that thought, too, Mina files away.

“So, yes, I think so, too; that we should have stayed friends,” Mina sums up in agreement, and Momo nods. “We should be friends now, actually.” But this is apparently not the right thing to say, because Momo stops nodding, and Mina isn’t sure why, because she doesn’t know how to read Momo anymore. She assumes her suggestion might be off-putting because Momo’s job is technically the only reason they’re here right now, talking. This may have been a better idea to propose once the program is over, perhaps.

Momo’s barely noticeable frown seems to affirm that theory. “You know, the not being friends part, it wasn’t up to me, it wasn’t my decision, you just left everything—” A surge of panic drives up a lump to her throat and Mina is almost panicking at the path Momo appears to be heading down on, but then, “—I’m sorry; ignore that last part. Um, I really would like to be friends.” Momo’s palpably nervous and Mina wonders, in turn, what expression _she’s_ carrying. “I mean, right now I’m doing my job, but, when I’m not... it would be nice to be your friend again.”

Again. Again? When were they ever friends?

Wanting to know the answer to that question, and why it matters to her so much, looks to her a lot like trying to climb a mountain that reaches infinitely into the sky, which is why Mina doesn’t allow her brain to mull this proposition over any longer than the half-second it took to comprehend it.

“I’d like that, too. I’d like to be friends again.”

The parallel conversation tries to force its way out again—Momo, I’m fighting a war, I’m—but she pushes back ferociously against it, just as Momo offers her a small, pleased smile, whose brightness seems to be bursting from the corners of her lips. Whatever they’ve agreed to seems to have lifted some unseen weight off Momo’s shoulders. Whatever compromise they’ve reached has made Momo happy. And it’s been a very long time since she last made Momo happy.

This is probably the best possible outcome for the mess they were in, Mina muses. She’d been under the impression that Momo was a door she needed to close so she could open a new one someday. But this—this is the better solution: keeping it open but just making sure she remembers, always, that she can’t walk through it again. And maybe her feelings for Momo will be the piece that she leaves behind this time. All of the things she’d wanted to say to Momo, she can leave those behind, too.

Mina smiles back. This is the best possible outcome.

Momo tells her with exaggerated disappointment that she can’t believe Mina is actually eating _quinoa_ and Mina throws a small cube of carrot in Momo’s direction. Momo bursts into laughter; asks Mina to toss another one her way, and then, victoriously, catches it with her mouth.

And just like that, they’re friends.

-

Through the rest of the afternoon, Mina is occupied with the remainder of her obligations, taken aback by the pleasant sensation of having stanched that long-standing hemorrhaging wound inside her. Mina shows Momo how to use the secure terminal installed by the couch to message her directly, and every couple of minutes, Mina tunes out of her meetings to glance at her computer screen and spot exactly the sort of message she should have expected Momo to send her, like:

 **[MYOUI IND. TERMINAL PTH-109.0610899]** _why does the old man in the blue tie look familiar?_

 **[MM - MYOUI IND.01]** _He’s the president of Samsung_

 **[MYOUI IND. TERMINAL PTH-109.0610899]** _omfg you didn’t even give me a heads-up_

And,

 **[MYOUI IND. TERMINAL PTH-109.0610899]** _you have your own chef here and you only eat like twice a day_

 **[MM - MYOUI IND.01]** _I have another at home, so I eat at home when I don’t eat here_

 **[MYOUI IND. TERMINAL PTH-109.0610899]** _sometimes I forget how rich you are and then you remind me_

And also,

 **[MYOUI IND. TERMINAL PTH-109.0610899]** _how do I send a dog video through this chat_

 **[MM - MYOUI IND.01]** _this is a military-grade encrypted communication system, Momo_

 **[MM - MYOUI IND.01]** _and by that I mean you can’t send a dog video_

 **[MYOUI IND. TERMINAL PTH-109.0610899]** _sigh_

When the end of the day is nearing, Momo is busily typing away on her tablet and Mina comments lightly, “I have one last on-site visit I have to make.”

Momo, very distracted, acknowledges the information but maintains focus on the tablet. “Oh, okay… sure.”

Mina watches her with amusement and a tender fondness she’s relieved she doesn’t have to hide anymore.

“It’s in Hwaseong, and I have to be there in 30 minutes.”

She figures that’ll grab Momo’s attention—the fact that this city is a 2-hour trip by car, and Mina is headed there anyway, and will arrive in 30 minutes—but all it does is lift Momo from the couch without extracting her from the typing.

“Um, sure; let’s go.”

 _Well_ , Mina chuckles, grabbing her purse and pulling Momo by the sleeve towards the elevator, this will be a surprise and it won’t be the kind Momo likes, but it’ll be worth seeing her reaction.

“You don’t have to go with me, by the way,” Mina informs, pushing the button that will take them to the helipad on the roof. 

“No, it’s fine…” Momo mumbles absentmindedly, and as they stand side-by-side in the elevator, Mina tilts her head to peek at Momo’s tablet screen.

There are a lot of numbers that aren’t the sort she deals with, but also some writing, answers to various questions. Momo had mentioned before that the questionnaires for the client profiles are tremendously long and detailed and sometimes redundant and repetitive; that a lot of her work is jotting down notes and then converting the information into data for the algorithms later. 

It’s the writing, these answers she’s seeing, that slam her throat closed.

‘likes: sunsets (+7)’

‘dislikes: crowds (-5)’

‘likes: numbers (+4)’

‘dislikes: sodas (-2)’

‘likes: naps (+6)’

‘dislikes: confrontation (-11)’

‘likes: her family (+9)’

‘dislikes: her family (-8) (elaborate later)’

There’s a part of her imagination that lives in a future with Momo that never happened. That imagined alternate reality becomes almost palpable for a brief span of time in between one blink and another, painted so realistically in front of her. And Mina almost lets herself pray to whatever holy entity will hear her—something like, please let me have her again, I promise I won’t mess it up this time—but she catches herself just before that happens. 

They’re friends now; she’s going to be Momo’s friend and it’ll be fine.

The bone-weariness that had weakened her so abruptly, wears off partially when the elevator smoothly delivers them to the roof, splitting doors revealing the helipad. A gust of wind whooshes through them immediately, and Momo makes it all of one second before she almost drops her tablet in shock at realizing where they are.

“ _Fuck no_ ; I’m not going to ride your _helicopter_.”

Despite the lingering pain in her chest, Mina laughs, easily and instantly—she’s split in half, like the elevator doors; she’s two people at once. Meanwhile, Momo’s horror is thorough, hilarious, and outraged.

“Mina! _Holy shit_ —I can see the whole of Asia from here—how many floors up are we? I think this is where God lives.”

This is Momo’s self-defense mechanism—jokes. Mina doubles over, laughing harder than she’s laughed in years. Five years, to be exact.

“You think I’ve lost my fear of heights since the last time we talked about this? Because I sure AS HELL HAVEN’T.”

Mina’s entire abdominal area is aching now; her eyes are about to start watering.

“Momo,” Mina manages breathlessly, making an enormous effort to contain her laughter, “you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

“You should have told me this is what you meant when you said you’d be in Hwaseong in 30 minutes! Flying inside a death-trap in the sky!” Momo huffs indignantly, and Mina averts her face to hide an additional bout of laughter. “I’m not even inside it and can already see my life flashing before my eyes—”

“Momo, that’s a state-of-the-art helicopter; it’s the best and safest in the market and actually cost a lot of money—”

“A lot of money for a regular person or for a Myoui?” Momo asks, in a fleeting moment of genuine curiosity before the fear settles back in.

“A lot of money, even for a Myoui,” Mina replies with a grin and a gentle, disbelieving shake of her head, that this is what Momo is curious about.

“Well, it looks _flimsy_ and there’s no way I’m getting into that thing—”

Mina’s grin widens automatically, as though this is her face’s most natural expression, even though it isn’t—and the light ache in her jaw attests to that, to how infrequently she smiles like this.

One day, she did something she promised herself later that she’d never do again. She climbed a terrible number of stairs to reach the rooftop of her dormitory in college, faced the flame-like sunset splattered in front of her, and let her mind replay all the times she remembered Momo telling her that she loved her, so she could try to figure out when Momo stopped meaning it enough to be okay with breaking up with her. Right now, on this rooftop, enveloped by this sunset, Mina almost does it again. 

There’s so much she wishes she could ask Momo, wishes she could tell her, and this would be one those things. She’d tell her about that particular sunset. She would ask her, when was it? Which ‘I love you’ was it?

In this, too, she stops herself just in time.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

A year and a half with Momo was all she was meant to have—a year and a half during which Momo healed her in places she didn’t know she was broken, and gave her evidence to present to the world that she’s not unlovable, not completely, because someone did it once. It ended, but it happened; it was real, and she has all the scars to prove it. A year and a half of perfect, complete happiness is more than a lot of other people ever experience. Someone else will have Momo’s love but Mina had it first.

And really, having Momo as a friend is infinitely better than not having Momo at all; the realization is compelling enough to strengthen that last waning thread of resolve she had.

“Momo,” a light-toned, teasing Mina poses, “have you ever wanted to go from Seoul to Hwaseong in 20 minutes?”

“Yeah, but not to die on my way there,” Momo protests petulantly; “seriously, my legs are refusing to move from this spot to get closer to your death-trap. I can’t move them at all—”

The sun is a thick line on the horizon and Mina blinks at its brightness, then blinks again, focusing on the person she loves so much still.

It’s fine, isn’t it?

And then, she can’t help it. “You know what I think, honestly?” She can’t help any of it; not her words, not her ever-widening grin at Momo’s immediate recognition and subsequent eye-roll, barely tucking away a smile of her own. “That you can do anything you want to do.”

“Seriously? Using my own words against me?”

She can’t help it. “I use them all the time, for myself. When I’m afraid to do something.” Not the bare bones of her honesty, either, laying out the best and worst truths she’s held inside her. 

The sunset thins, the backdrop to Momo watching her with a tiny, uncertain frown. “Really? You do?”

“Yeah. I hear them in your voice, too.” Another gust of wind almost swallows up her admission, but Momo hears it—she can tell when Momo’s frown disappears and all that seems to remain is understanding, unfolding slowly across her features. “I tried to hear them in someone else’s voice but it didn’t work.”

Mina is still smiling, because she means this so much, so deeply. 

And then Momo starts walking, as resolutely as Mina’s ever seen her, and Mina’s breath leaves her lungs.

“I’m going to regret this!” Momo shouts out behind her, as Mina follows her in amazement and disbelief. “I just know it!”

Shakily, Momo plops down on one of the helicopter’s cushioned but nonetheless snug and practical seats, and Mina slides inside with practiced ease and settles down across from her, still in shock that she’s just witnessed Momo—the girl who couldn’t even ride a Ferris wheel—voluntarily enter a helicopter.

“Momo, I told you don’t have to go with me, right?” Mina reminds gently, signaling for the pilot to hold off on starting the engine, but Momo is already taking deep gulps of breath and anxiously trying to figure out the specialized seatbelts, an effort that is proving wholly ineffective. “Okay, let me sort that out for you.”

“I’m regretting all my life choices,” Momo breathes out as Mina chuckles and tugs on the first seatbelt while reaching for the second one that will criss-cross it over Momo’s shoulders.

“Um, do you want a helmet, too?” Mina queries tentatively after securing the seatbelts, laughing again when Momo responds dryly, “do you even need to ask?”

“Here; you can use mine,” Mina offers, leaning forward on her seat to place her helmet on Momo’s head. On its surface, her initials glisten with the rays of sunset filtering through the helicopter windows. “It’s a little more comfortable; has more cushioning.”

Even through her terror, Momo still manages to be concerned for Mina, who’s flown on this a few hundred times; “what are you going to use, then, if I’m using yours?”

Mina’s focus is on tightening the strap around Momo’s chin, and her reply is a murmured, “there are other helmets, don’t worry… okay, this is your microphone in case you want to talk, and the other controls are just above it, on top of your ear muff area,” she indicates helpfully, pointing to an edge of the helmet that she then realizes Momo can’t see.

Now that Momo appears significantly less uneasy—something she’s attributing to the reassuringly snug fit of the seatbelts and the helmet—Mina is ill-inclined to remove the helmet, even if it’s to show Momo the control buttons. Momo, on her part, has raised her hand to the ear muff area, unsuccessfully attempting to feel around for the buttons Mina pointed out.

She needs to guide Momo’s hand. She needs to touch Momo’s hand. The vertigo-inducing dread stitches the two Minas back into one.

Well. If she has to take at least one useful thing from her corporate training, then forcing herself into being brave has to be it.

She leans forward again, so close to Momo that she has to maneuver her pressed-together knees into the space between Momo’s legs, only to feel as though she’s breathing in Momo while breathing out all her calm.

“Here,” Mina says, almost whispering, taking gentle hold of Momo’s hand—it’s warm, it’s soft, it’s familiar, it’s touched every part of her—and shepherding it so the fingers are positioned on the buttons. “It’s like a game controller, kind of, because all the buttons have different shapes, so you know which are which even when you’re not looking.” Momo gives her a barely-there scowl. “Okay, never mind—you don’t play games.” Mina smiles and tries to rein in all the pained thoughts and feelings swirling mutinously inside her, telling herself, there’s nothing here, there’s nothing here, while every other part of her brain is disagreeing that what _is_ there is so obvious and so potent.

Gingerly, she lays her own hand atop Momo’s, aligning their fingers so her index finger will press down Momo’s as well. Momo stiffens on her seat and Mina can’t tell which hastened pulse she’s sensing on her fingertips; whether the quick, gentle taps are hers, or Momo’s. (She knows Momo’s heartbeat. This feels like Momo’s heartbeat.) “This button lowers a built-in visor—sunglasses—in case you want it.”

Her eyes want to linger on Momo’s face, want to trace each corner and curve and freckle the way her lips used to, but Mina forcefully steers them away. Meanwhile, that parallel conversation sparks alive again, and this time Mina doesn’t stop it, because Momo is her friend now, and Mina has to leave behind the things she wanted to say. She might as well do that now.

She says, “this button changes frequencies for your radio communication.”

She does not say, you were mine once. And I was yours.

She says, “this one turns on a flashlight installed on top of the helmet.”

She does not say, I’m so sorry I was afraid and didn’t try to talk to you.

She also says, “this one increases the volume of your earphones.”

She doesn’t say, I miss you, I miss everything about you, you’re right in front of me and I still miss you.

She says, also, “this one _decreases_ the volume.”

But she doesn’t say, I have so much of you left over inside me.

And finally, she says, “and this one releases the bottom strap of the helmet so you can take it off later.”

And the last thing she does not say is, I was fighting a war, Momo, and the war won.

She sits back and finishes fastening her own seatbelts and securing her helmet, as the helicopter’s rotor blades begin a slow, almost lazy spin.

Momo is still watching her, and Mina wards off all her remaining pangs of hurt.

“If this thing crashes and I die,” Momo grumbles sullenly into the helmet’s microphone, the stereo quality of her voice not detracting from her tone, “my ghost is going to haunt you, just so you know.”

Mina sighs and smiles, adjusting her headphones against her ears; the blades spin a little faster. 

“Momo, if this crashes, we’ll both die and I’ll also be a ghost.” She wants to joke, too, despite everything else. “My ghost might haunt _your_ ghost.”

And now they’re in the air, pressed down slightly onto their seats by the helicopter’s ascension into the sky, but Momo hasn’t dissolved in anguish as Mina had feared, probably because her eyes are fixed on Mina and not on the orange and purple immensity swallowing them.

“We’ll haunt each other, then.” 

Truthfully, Mina doesn’t quite know what to make of that, because it feels like Momo’s already haunted her for a very long time. 

But Momo is her friend now, so she agrees.

“Okay, we’ll haunt each other.”

They slice around a skyscraper and emerge into a clear sky where the last remaining rays break through the clouds. Mina swallows down a lumped-up mix of emotions as she watches an awed Momo finally, finally, look out the window.

“Not as bad as you thought, right?”

Momo flushes, and clicks on the button that turns on the flashlight, the beam of which Mina laughingly dodges by leaning her head to the side. 

“Oh my God, I’m sorry—which one is the sunglasses button again?”

They’re friends. For the first time since the moment she met Momo, they’re friends.

“The one on the right of that one. No, Momo— _your_ right, not _my_ right.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School and work made it kind of impossible to update this any sooner, and for that I apologize. Thank you to everyone who patiently waited, however, and encouraged me even though I was giving like, no signs that I was even alive, let alone writing this. 
> 
> P.S. did I mention that I'm getting [this video](https://twitter.com/TWICEpeachMOMO/status/1063089739656388615) tattooed inside my eyelids?


	6. Of lies and truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the amazing, spectacular, magnificent, talented, perfect [@kyokoring](https://twitter.com/kyokoriing), this fic now has [a cover](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DvS_koPVsAEL4dm.jpg). Don't look at me; I'm emotional.

**THE PAST**

Mina has her inaugural detention session that Monday during lunch period, and as Momo awaits her outside the classroom just before the detained students are meant to be dismissed, she uses the time to plan the cheerleading squad’s schedule for the week, and the details of her first date with Mina. 

Yesterday was their first actual shift together at The Thai-Tanic, and yes, it was endlessly entertaining to confirm her suspicions about how not-promising Mina’s soon-to-be-over career in fast food service will be, in that Mina, for an example, has no real notion of the cost of things (“the whole kitchen set is professional, industrial-grade, so it was bought for like 30,000 American dollars,” Momo had explained solemnly, only for Mina to respond, relieved, “oh, I’m glad it can be easily replaced”), while possessing an almost compulsive need to use precise measurements (“Mina, step away from the scale; we are not going to weigh ‘a pinch’ of salt.”).

While trying her best not to laugh outright at Mina’s utter unfamiliarity with cooking and kitchens, Momo was very, very glad that at least Mina’s livelihood doesn’t depend on this job. And even though they were mostly occupied with work, and even though they couldn’t really have a conversation, and even though the inconstant proximity of Mina was a little maddening, and even though Mina stared blankly at the utensils drawer for a half-minute after Momo asked her for a ladle, Momo still said it, unashamedly smitten, because it was something that had been digging its way up to the surface with each hour, making its journey from thought, to feeling, to words. “Mina, I’m really happy that you’re working with me.” And Mina, spatula in one hand and a whisk in another—neither of these, needless to say, being a ladle—grinned back. 

It’s new, still, so Momo is still counting things. 

Momo kissed her once prior to their shift, in the makeshift female locker room at the back of the restaurant when she had to let Mina borrow one of her own extra name tags because Mina’s—or, rather, Sharon Myoui’s—still hadn’t come in. “Don’t be nervous about your first day, okay; you can just ask me anything you want and I’ll answer you and help you, since I am your elder after all,” Momo had murmured reassuringly, partially concentrated on securing the pin to one of Mina’s apron straps. The hint of teasing in her tone worked, however; confirmed by Mina’s humored sigh as she set aside a half-eaten apple. “As you know, in all this time I’ve been alive longer than you—”

“Momo, you’re only four months older than me—”

Momo had proceeded, completely unbothered, finishing her task and taking the liberty of helping herself to a bite of the same apple, all while knowing that Mina’s amused smile would become a laugh any second now; “—all this _wisdom_ and _experience_ I’ve gathered since I was your age—” 

The smile finally widened into a laugh as Mina protested, “literally _four months_ ,” before the string-like pull of it was too great and was already tilting Momo forward, and Mina’s words were lost both in her laugh and on the sweet, sticky kiss that followed.

After their shift had ended that evening, they tucked themselves into a discreet corner of the parking lot and, in the wake of expending what seemed to be an entire lifetime’s worth of energy to stop herself from staring at Mina during their shift, Momo relaxed and finally allowed herself to enjoy Mina’s nearness, as the girl commented on their anticipated schedule for the next week and pointed out, again, how strongly she’d like to help Momo complete the Senior Bucket List. Facing Mina like that had made all her poorly-restrained attraction flare alive again and though they were mostly hidden from sight, she had no idea where Mina’s bodyguards were—they seem to be everywhere and yet always out of sight, with the exception of the one who posed as a customer and remained in one of their dining tables for the entire shift—so Momo tried very, very hard, not to kiss her, and not to step any closer.

In the end, she didn’t need to worry, because Mina was the one who lessened the gap between them, to comment idly while reaching for her hand, “I really admire now that you’re so efficient in there, when things sometimes get so hectic.” Momo remembers her own instinctive lean into the touch and the subsequent almost-shiver that accompanied a little burst of exhilaration released in her bloodstream, as though her heart itself was sighing. “You had joked about me burning down the restaurant but I think I really did have some close calls.”

“You were good at the cashiering part,” Momo had pointed out encouragingly, smiling when Mina had shrugged and drawn closer to her still, close enough that her warmth was pressing against Momo’s skin in about a dozen places, close enough to have Momo thinking simultaneously about everything in the world and nothing at all. “Which is good, since as far as the customers knew, your family name is Hirai. I’m glad you represented us so well…” Laughing, Mina had kissed the corner of her smile and started to make her way to her mouth and as Momo’s breath got away from her, she could no longer find the end of that sentence.

And it’s Mina who snatches her attention today again, when Momo hears a pleasantly-surprised, “oh, you waited for me,” and follows the words to a spot just outside the detention classroom entrance, from where Mina is watching her with a bright-eyed smile, in her cheerleading uniform and a backpack slung low over her shoulder. “You really didn’t have to.” She lets the calm echo of Mina’s voice reach out to her as the standstilled pace of the world softens her heartbeats. It’s a strange thing that she might never quite get used to, the way it feels sometimes like she’s daydreaming about Mina even when Mina is literally right in front of her.

“Well, I figured I should,” Momo begins seriously, pushing herself off the wall, “to make sure hanging out with the other delinquents hasn’t changed you too much and you’re not some hardened criminal now.”

A laugh bubbles up from Mina’s throat and it’s probably the best sound Momo’s heard all day. “I’m the only one in there, actually,” Mina reveals as Momo leads them down the mostly empty hallway to the courtyard, where their friends are waiting to see them for the last 10 minutes of the lunch period. “I have the option of completing my detention hours on the weekdays at lunch and after school, or on the weekend, which I guess combines all the weekday sessions into one that lasts the whole day. I’m not sure which option I’ll pick but it doesn’t seem like I can work at The Thai-Tanic, do my detention, and do cheerleading, so I might have to quit the restaurant before the end of the week.”

“Oh, no,” Momo exaggerates devastation, “but you’re such a great cook—what will The Thai-Tanic do without you?”

Mina half-heartedly slaps Momo’s arm, laugh low and quiet. “I am never cooking anything for you again.” Her hand lingers just long enough to make Momo lament spoiling herself last night after their shift by kissing Mina whenever she wanted, because making that a habit is backfiring horribly now, with her body sort of expecting Mina to touch her more, to be closer, when they can’t. Well, it’s comforting, at least, that Mina is probably feeling the same way, if her darted look at Momo’s mouth and subsequent flush, subtly flaring outward from her cheeks, is any indication.

“How was detention, Mina?” Dahyun asks with interest once they’ve settled at their group’s now-customary table. 

“It was just kind of an information session…?” Mina replies uncertainly, as Chaeyoung links her arm inside hers comfortingly and Momo reads an article about dog breeds with Tzuyu. “Next time I think it’ll be real detention; cleaning desks and organizing library books or things like that.”

“They can’t make you _clean_ ,” Nayeon objects, personally affronted. “It’s detention, not community service.”

“They can, actually, make her clean,” Jihyo informs helpfully.

“What century are we living in?” Nayeon continues with horror, turning her attention to her phone before mumbling, “sorry; I have to fill out this questionnaire for my counselor about what I want to major in for college and something about my career aspirations—”

Gleefully, Jeongyeon interjects, “career aspirations? You mean, besides ‘professional creator of nightmares’ or ‘bringer of the apocalypse’ or—”

Nayeon squints up from her phone to address both Mina and Tzuyu; “you know, sometimes I hear a buzz in my ear and can’t tell if it’s a mosquito or a brain tumor—”

“It’s _me_ ,” Jeongyeon interrupts again, expression now turning annoyed, “the person you now have to go to detention with, thanks to _you_ —”

“Oh, so it’s worse than the brain tumor,” Nayeon cuts in darkly, and both Mina and Momo exchange questioning glances.

“You have detention?” Mina voices their mutual curiosity, only for both Jeongyeon and Nayeon to reply with equal bitterness, “DON’T ASK.”

“No, actually, please ask,” Sana chuckles, as both Chaeyoung and Dahyun laugh, “you guys weren’t here, but these two got _three days_ of detention today because they were arguing in one of the hallways, lost track of time, and were late for third period.”

“So not only do we have to do detention together,” a deeply horrified Jeongyeon remarks, “because we were late when we got to class, everyone had already been paired up for the semester project, so now _we’re_ partners. Me! And the human equivalent of a biblical plague!”

Nayeon is apparently not sparing any of her attention to Jeongyeon’s lament; she’s turned to Mina with a look of profound despair. “You’re still going to pick the week-day option for your detention, right?” And at Mina’s subsequent nod, she sighs despondently, “I rank my traumatic experiences as they happen to me, and being partnered up with this _disgrace_ of a human being just made the top 5. I don’t think I could handle also having to do detention by myself with her, so I’m going to pick the week-day option too so I can have you there with me, at least. And ugh, Mina, how are we going to do this; I’ve never even _touched_ a cleaning appliance in my life—”

Jeongyeon is more than happy to interrupt with a snort; “oh, that’s surprising; I thought brooms were your primary mode of transportation.”

Momo half expects the air to cackle and snap around them when Nayeon pivots in Jeongyeon’s direction to retort flatly, “why are you here? Don’t you have a Bad Haircuts convention to go to? What’s the Bowl-Cuts chapter going to do without their leader?”

The bell announces the end of lunch period and simultaneously both Jeongyeon and Nayeon stand, gathering their backpacks in perfect sync, carrying on unperturbed their lively quarrel as everyone else remains at their table, transfixed.

Jeongyeon fishes out what appears to be an orange from her backpack and extends it to Nayeon, musing, “you know what’s amazing? Whenever you talk, I can actually _hear_ babies crying in the distance—”

The two begin to walk towards their class side by side, completely unaware that no one else is doing the same, and Nayeon interrupts, repulsed, “is this an _orange_? You were supposed to get a _tangerine_ —” Now Jeongyeon is digging into one of the side-pockets in Nayeon’s backpack, retrieving and opening a package of rice crisps, while the girl berates on, “—and before you say it, no, they don’t taste the same, and I should have known your palate would be as unsophisticated as the rest of you—”

Nayeon is seamlessly taking a rice crisp of her own when a miffed Jeongyeon grunts, “you know what? How about you not FaceTime me at 11pm when I’m already asleep to ask me for fruit—”

Momo’s eyes—and everyone else’s, apparently—follow Nayeon and Jeongyeon as they bicker their way out of sight, and while their retreat out of the courtyard dulls the volume of their barbs, Momo and the others can still hear the last of it.

“You call me in the morning when the _moon_ is still out; who the hell wakes up at 5am—”

Thoroughly entertained by the absolute trainwreck she’s just witnessed, Momo turns to Mina to share her reaction, only to find her holding a discreet frown that Momo tries vainly to pin down; whether it’s confusion, or concentration, or both.

“They’re going to murder each other by the end of the year,” Chaeyoung predicts, thrilled, to general hums of agreement around the table. “I give it 2 months.”

“Two weeks, max—”

“Three months, and I will put _money_ on this—”

-

During the twenty-minute interval between fifth and sixth period, Momo rushes to Nayeon’s locker, intending to request that she find out what time Mina has to be home the following day, so she can better prepare their first date, and hoping she can do so before Mina meets them for their scheduled choreography update.

She’s barely four words into her sentence (“I need your help—”) before Nayeon chirpily interrupts her. 

“Does this have to do with your first date with Mina tomorrow?” Taken aback, Momo nods wordlessly, to which Nayeon explains loftily, “yes; she told me you two are going out tomorrow after school, and I’m _flattered_ that you’re asking me for ideas.” Momo opens her mouth to make clear that the date is actually already almost completely set up, but Nayeon gives her no such opportunity. “First of all, don’t take her anywhere expensive,” Nayeon begins dutifully, and it’s only her businesslike, solemn approach to this that keeps Momo’s attention. “You can’t buy her anything she can’t buy for herself, and she’ll appreciate it more if you show her something she’d never have found on her own. I’m serious about this—she’ll actually get mad if you spend any money on her.” 

Mentally, Momo checks off that box—she’s definitely not taking Mina anywhere luxurious. 

“Second, pick something she knows you also enjoy; don’t just do something for her. Believe me, every person she ever meets wants to bend over backwards to do things for her because of who she is, and she hates it.”

Okay, that’s another box Momo can check—this date will also serve to cross off an item from her bucket list so Momo is confident Mina will be pleased with that.

“Oh, and Hirai?” Momo blinks at Nayeon’s swift shift in expression; from helpful to menacing in a fraction of a second, and oh boy, here they go again. “If you hurt her, I’m going to torture you first and then dismember you and then kill you.”

Her eyes practically roll themselves. “ _Really?_ We’re back to this?” 

“I’m not done yet,” Nayeon fords on with her now-characteristic nonchalance, “then I’ll burn your body into ashes, and feed your ashes to snakes.”

Patiently, Momo waits a beat, then asks, “are you done _now_?”

“No. And then I’ll raise those snakes as loving pets, so every time I look at them, I can think about your death.” The girl settles back with a content sigh and gives Momo her most serene smile. “Okay, now I’m done.”

It had been a while since the last time Nayeon bestowed her one of her threats, and by now Momo recognizes their group’s budding, evolving friendship enough to appreciate Nayeon’s overprotectiveness, instead of resent it. “I’m not going to hurt her. I’d never do that.”

Perhaps because Momo allowed herself to be so thoroughly honest and firm about this, a much-softened Nayeon takes a second of her own to study Momo, before saying, “you know why I care about this so much, right? Her own parents don’t care about anything she does; they didn’t care when she got into dance, didn’t care when she came out to them—literally, all they told her was not to be _indiscreet_ , whatever the hell that means—and they always give her _company stocks_ for her birthday… and you’ve noticed that she’s a little OCD with some stuff, right?—that fear of messing up and failing is _legit_. Anyway, I always think about how I have money and my parents, but Mina just has the money.” At this, Momo’s thoughts begin to trail away from her and head to the girl in question. They’re the same person, aren’t they, the Mina who spent ten minutes attempting to light a stove, and the Mina who sees her family three times a year, whose hobbies are all activities one can engage in by themselves without the need for a second person, like swimming and gaming and knitting and dancing—they’re all Mina. “And if you ever dated someone who was a really close friend and you were the wrong person for them, and you _knew_ you were, you’d be very invested in wanting that friend to be with the right person after you.”

In a reflex, Momo remembers Sana, and being the wrong person then, as well as the guilt-inducing relief that rushed through her after it ended; a guilt that only subsided when Sana did find her right person. Momo felt fine that time. This time, however, if she’s the wrong person for Mina, she probably will not be fine. All the breath seems to exit her body when she identifies what this feeling is; this full-hearted, all-encompassing and unstoppable _want_ to be the right person.

The prolonged silence that follows shakes her out of her reverie, and Nayeon inquires, much less serious now as some of her haughty humor is restored, “where are you thinking of taking her, by the way? To be honest, I think you could take her to a _morgue_ and she wouldn’t mind.”

“She likes doing charity things, and we both like dogs,” Momo discloses, mood lifted now at the anticipation of Mina’s reaction. “So I’m taking her somewhere that has both of those things; this place I used to go to with my sister.”

Something behind Momo catches Nayeon’s attention, and instead of commenting any further, Nayeon calls out disapprovingly, “Mina! Come collect your girl; she’s annoying me!”

Obliging, Mina makes her way over to them, aiming a smile Momo’s way that feels like it’s hers now, because she hasn’t seen Mina give it to anyone else. And at her good-humored “hi,” that twinge inside Momo’s chest descends to her gut and swoops up her stomach in a most pleasant way.

Biting her lip around a smile of her own, Momo bids her the same, only for Nayeon to release a scoff of revulsion. “Jeongyeon really called it: you two are going to be that disgusting couple no one wants to be around, aren’t you?”

As they begin to walk towards the auditorium, Momo ignores that dig in favor of telling Mina with feigned affront, “I wasn’t really annoying her.”

“I know; sometimes she’s a little dramatic.”

Momo joins Mina in laughing at Nayeon’s subsequent gasp. “The slander! From my own best friend!” Once they’re stepping onto the wooden floors of the empty building, however, and as Momo is selecting the designated song for their new routine, Nayeon quips impishly, “according to Mina, watching you dance is—I quote—a _religious experience_ , so let’s see what you got, Hirai.”

Momo can’t help a chuckle at the sight of Mina’s slack-jawed indignation. “Oh my God, Nayeon; you were supposed to keep that to yourself.”

And as an amused Momo finally finds the song and attunes her body to the first notes, she hears the two taking a seat beside one another on the floor, as Nayeon mumbles triumphantly, “I had to embarrass you in front of the girl you like at least once, you know.”

There are different levels of effort and artistry and precision that Momo can channel into dancing. Generally, Momo conserves her energy in these sorts of demonstrations; this is meant to be a minute-long preview of the cheer routine she and Mina have come up with, so, all things considered, this is the sort of low-stakes display that Momo could easily breeze through and still be good, because Momo doesn’t actually know how to dance badly. But watching her are both the girl she likes and that girl’s best friend—someone whom circumstance has also made into her friend—and there’s no reason, really, not to let herself be as great at this as she can be. So Momo goes for greatness. And perhaps a quarter into the routine, Mina’s beam is warm with pride and adoration and she’s casting a fleeting glimpse sideways at Nayeon, who’s gaping up at Momo as though appalled.

At the end of the last note and her last step, Momo almost laughs at Nayeon’s immediate reaction: an awed but nearly indignant, “holy shit—you really are good.” And then she does laugh, when Mina’s grin morphs into an exasperated sigh after Nayeon adds, “I thought it was just Mina’s infatuation talking, but _damn_ , she’s right.” Mina is massaging her right temple as though warding off a headache when Nayeon admits with admiration, “I believe it now, what she said about one of your dance videos having a million views.”

“Oh, you watched that one?” Momo asks Mina, equal parts taken aback and pleased.

The steady pulse of affection inside her quickens just slightly when Mina blushes and nods her assent. “I watched a couple of them—” 

“She watched _all of them_ ; she’s practically one of your groupies now,” Nayeon cuts in to reveal, laughing when Mina shoots her a narrow-eyed glare while continuing, “—and they’re really good; you’re just really, really good.”

A hazy warmth in Mina’s eyes tugs the corner of Momo’s lips into a smile, which she doesn’t even notice until Nayeon literally gags.

“Has anyone told you two that you’re nauseating?”

Fully reverted to tolerant and calm, Mina is the one who replies. “Yes. You. Multiple times.”

The auditorium’s door is propped open and a businesslike Jeongyeon pokes her head in, directly addressing Nayeon.

“We only have three minutes to cross the campus for sixth period and I don’t plan on spending any more time in your company than I have to, so can we be on time for class and not get more detention days?” 

Sulkily, Nayeon gathers her books and stands to her feet, grumbling lowly to Mina, “I still can’t believe that’s my project partner; did I kill puppies for a living in my previous life or something—what did I do to deserve this?” 

Impatient, Jeongyeon calls out again from the doorway, “and don’t forget we have our project draft due tomorrow that we haven’t even started, so that’s what we’re doing after school, in case you were planning on attending a coven meeting with the other Satan worshippers—”

And Nayeon, who’s just started to make her way to the exit, shoots back, rolling her eyes, “I thought _I_ was Satan—gosh, be consistent. Even with your insults you’re incompetent.” Nayeon takes two more steps before looking over her shoulder to admonish cheekily, “and you two can go back to breaking the world record for sappiness or whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

Momo has an impulse to follow up Nayeon’s last quip with a joke of her own, but her eyes take in the same odd, unrecognizing, millisecond-long expression furrowing Mina’s brows together as she, too, tracks Nayeon’s exit, and that silences her for at least that millisecond.

Then, in the next millisecond, Mina has already stood up to approach her, widening smile blurring and dissolving the edges of Momo’s vision, enough that Momo blinks at the slow-setting picture forming before her—empty gym wrapped in the light of the day, and the girl who fills her brain like smoke, walking towards her.

“You were showing off a bit, weren’t you?” Mina accuses with a light-hearted chuckle. 

What’s sure to be a guilty flush heats her cheeks, but Momo rebuts with a shrug, “well, someone decided to hype me up by talking about a ‘religious experience,’ so I needed to live up to that,” which elicits a lovely, entertained laugh from Mina. “Oh, I actually had meant to show you that version of the choreo but also two other ones, to see which parts you like and don’t like; whether you have a favorite one, etc.”

“I’ll like everything,” Mina responds, easy and sure, eyes fire-bright. “Whatever you do, it’s going to be my favorite thing; I already know it. Momo, you’re like, almost a professional. I don’t think you actually know how great at this you are.” Last week, Momo had been expecting, fearing, preparing herself to pine and suffer but here Mina is, liking her back, and Momo wonders how many times Mina will show her this before it stops being surprising.

“Well, there’s a girl who keeps telling me I’m good, but she might be a little biased because I’m dating her,” Momo jokes, deflecting the compliment.

Mina, of course, doesn’t let her off so easily. “You should believe her. She already thought you were good before she started dating you.”

The sheer amount of space her feelings for Mina occupy inside her is daunting, sometimes. They’re always noticeable, she’s always aware of them, but sometimes they’re a gentle whisper echoing in the chambers of her heart and sometimes they roar through her ribcage. Right now, for instance, they’re roaring. Her smoke-filled brain hums, time is on my time, the world is on my side, and that hum shapes the words on her tongue before she’s even registered them.

“Can you please distract me?”

Mina chuckles at the question, perhaps noticing that Momo blurting this out is as much a surprise to her as it is to Momo. “You know, I always want to distract you.” And after a searching glance around the gym—they’re alone, they have about a minute before they have to leave, no one is expected to walk in—Mina is still smiling and has already leaned in. It’s quick but it’s sweet and it’s soft; it’s quick but it’s more than enough and it feels like it’s everything.

-

**ITEM #6**

The moment they arrive at the animal shelter she and Hana used to visit and Mina lowers a window of her armored towncar, Momo swivels to watch Mina’s reaction, and it’s just as she hoped and anticipated: a gasped laugh of sheer delight as she catches sight of the banner adorning the entrance (‘WELCOME, VOLUNTEERS!’) and queries happily, “we’re volunteering here?” followed by a widening smile of realization. “Oh, and your bucket list item! The one about petting 30 animals!”

That Momo got this right, that she was able to pick a date that pleases Mina—the satisfaction is heady and a little dizzying, which means that outwardly, Momo is giving Mina a simple smile of confirmation, while inwardly she’s feeling her heartbeats thrum all over her body. Which is strange but pleasant; unfamiliar, yes, but she’d really, really for it to beat like this more often.

That sensation continues throughout the day, a strand of feelings that tethers her to Mina, a whirlpool of excitement that she follows and chases and lets herself sink into.

They feed, bathe, and brush dogs, cats, birds, rodents; they wash feeding bowls and clean cages, and some of what Momo finds are reminders—that Mina has a quiet, unassuming sense of humor; that there’s a little bit of loneliness she always carries with her that makes her try very, very hard to suppress her surprise when people talk to her; that she’s used to being by herself and yet whenever Momo isn’t next to her, her eyes wander, wander, until they find Momo and steady themselves on her. There’s a second in which Momo is completely surrounded by leaping, licking dogs, and Mina’s volunteer uniform is half-soaked and blackened by muddy paw prints as she’s laughing at Momo’s obvious glee, and as it’s happening Momo’s mind is already taking the moment and tucking it away into her memory forever.

When they’re finally done, the sun is almost completely concealed by the mountains, and as usual, the Myoui bodyguards have managed to find them a spot by the parking lot that’s also completely concealed from the rest of the world. 

Mina’s face is turned to the last remainder of sunlight when she slides her arms around Momo, and Momo follows suit easily, resting her chin on Mina’s shoulder. This, too, is a reminder: that for all of Mina’s soft-spoken reserve and restraint of movement and expression when they first met, for all the introversion and reticence that had initially intimidated Momo, now Mina is the one who reaches out. Mina is the one whose touch is unhesitant while Momo is still trying not to do it for fear of overstepping, of messing this up and scaring Mina away when she just barely got her to like her. 

Mina ducks down to kiss her cheek and ask, “did you pet 30 animals today?”

“I did.” Contently, Momo burrows a little closer to her neck. “By the way, can I just say how unfair it is that we washed animals for 3 hours and you still smell like your perfume?” It’s already a little bit of a sensory overload, just standing here losing count of how many places of her body are touching Mina’s.

Mina laughs at the comment; Momo lodges the sound in a secluded part of her chest, and it throbs and twists there, and she hopes it does this today, tomorrow, and the day after, and in the day after that, and in all the tomorrows after this one. “What’s your next item in the list?”

“You didn’t see it when you looked at my list; it was on the other side of the page. So it’s going to be a surprise,” Momo replies happily, because oh, she can’t wait until she gets to do it. “But don’t worry—you’ll be helping me with it tomorrow.”

“How am I supposed to help you if I don’t know?” She sounds genuinely intrigued, which is equal parts cute and alluring. A hand that’s been gently rubbing Momo’s back climbs up to the nape of her neck, sending a shiver through Momo’s body like a wave.

“You don’t need to know to help me,” Momo chuckles reassuringly, after taking a second to recover. “You just need to exist. Oh, and like me. You have to like me, otherwise I don’t think it’ll work.” That hand climbs up again, this time to card through her hair and, okay, Mina is probably not doing this with any specific purpose in mind, but this is really, really distracting. 

It’s so distracting that even when a bemused Mina affirms, “okay; tomorrow I’ll exist and like you,” Momo only absorbs about a quarter of the words, and she isn’t aware the impulse is even _there_ until she’s already pressing a kiss to Mina’s neck.

Now Mina is the one who’s shivering, pulse jumping and skin heating, all factors that really, really seem to indicate that she liked it, which is such great news, because this spot is very soft and warm and Momo can tell she’s going to be kissing this part of her a lot, whenever she gets a chance.

“Are you trying to make me forget about the list?”

“Why—did it work?”

Initially, Momo is lifting her head to laugh, but then she spots the blurriness of Mina’s gaze, usually so sharp and focused, and though Mina is not actually pulling her, Momo feels tugged forward nonetheless.

“Yes, it worked.”

Some of what Momo found today were reminders. Some were completely new. That kissing Mina can be slow and deep and drugging, for an example. That she’s memorizing this, memorizing how it feels, and it can be increasingly familiar and yet not get any less exciting or amazing. That Momo can feel like she’s drunk on Mina, drunk and only getting _drunker_ , and still never, ever want to sober up.

“Oh, wait!” Mina pulls back with an almost imperceptible gasp and Momo’s mind jolts with panic—she messed up, she did something wrong, she did something Mina didn’t like, it was because she kind of bit her lip, wasn’t it, that was the only thing she did differently and she was really, really gentle about it but Mina must have hated it—

“I won’t bite you again,” Momo blurts out in a rush, even more distressed when she realizes she cut off Mina before the girl could say a single word. “I’m sorry—that was rude. Please go ahead.”

The fact that Mina seems thoroughly confused is probably a good sign. An even better sign is what she says next, of course. “Actually, you, um, can do that more often.” A timid blush lights up different spots of her face but she amends purposefully, “I just remembered that I’m supposed to take you somewhere.” They hadn’t discussed going anywhere else after their date so Momo is a little befuddled by this reveal; Mina grins enthusiastically and pulls her by the hand back to her armored car, and then they’re off. 

To Momo’s favorite jokbal restaurant, it turns out. That’s already magnificent news because Momo hasn’t eaten in a whole _four hours_ (and at the first signs of hunger, Momo always feels as though her stomach will begin to eat itself), so as soon as Momo spots the restaurant’s sign she wants to start kissing Mina all over again. But Mina tells her with quiet excitement, “I remember that when we first met, you recommended this restaurant to me, because you said it has the best jokbal in the city.”

They’re stepping out of the car and heading for the entrance when Mina continues, “and you told me that the jokbal here tastes like heaven.”

“Yes, it does,” Momo nods cheerily.

They’re walking inside the cozy, low-key establishment when Mina politely requests from the host whether they can have their orders packed to-go. And she’s extending a menu to Momo when she says, “and then you made fun of me because of Sharon’s Studio—”

“I wasn’t really _making fun_ of you—” an embarrassed Momo objects weakly, wondering why Mina is giving her a menu when Momo already knows exactly what she’s going to order, and noticing also that, _huh_ , is it just her or do these menus look newly-printed and laminated?

Mina easily ignores the interjection and proceeds, tone sweet and light and charming, “—afterwards, while you were trying to apologize, you said that it must be really nice having something you like named after you.” 

Humming and flipping through the menu inattentively, Momo alternates watching Mina smiling with anticipation and trying to understand where this conversation is going. Then, her eyes land on one specific section of the menu.

A hot, swooping sensation swells and flutters inside her, at the halfway point between her brain and her heart, and Momo’s gaze snaps up to Mina, who’s positively delighted with what she’s seeing. Momo feels the full force of her affection for Mina flush her so entirely that she thinks immediately, I’ve only known her for a week, only for a week, and already it feels like this.

“You should order it,” Mina encourages, adorably smug.

Still stunned, Momo turns to the expectant waiter, someone new on the staff, apparently, if he hasn’t recognized Momo. “Um. Hi. Can I please have 2 orders of…” Momo’s eyes flit down to the menu again, to double-check that she didn’t hallucinate it. “Of ‘Momo’s Heaven?’”

“Good choice—our jokbal dish is world-famous. Whose name do you want your order under?”

Mina is beaming at her, and Momo has hands that itch to touch her, lips restless to kiss her. 

“Momo. Hirai Momo.”

-

**ITEM #21**

“Good morning.” It’s just two words and yes, there’s really no part of Momo’s brain unreached by Mina’s smile, but seriously—it’s just two words, and already it’s like the firmness and steadiness of the world are shifting away from her. She has it so bad for Mina it’d alarm her, if she weren’t simultaneously sure now that she can like Mina as much as she wants, because Mina will like her back just as much.

With that in mind, Momo sets a crooked smile in place and launches forward with her plan. “It is a good morning now that I’ve seen you.”

Mina notices the tone, probably—she lifts an eyebrow just slightly as she shuts her locker—but focuses on extending Momo a paper cup instead. “I brought you the coffee you like. But be careful because it’s really hot.”

“ _You’re_ really hot.”

That eyebrow is raised again as Mina is visibly intrigued, and she’s hilariously cautious as she offers, “I can get us some snacks too if you want, before you have to go to first period.”

The heat in Momo’s cheeks creeps out to her forehead, ears, and neck—god, this one is extra-lame. “You’re already a snack.”

Mina bursts into a laugh and Momo can’t help a small cringe of her own as she asks bemusedly, “is this it? Is this your bucket list item? Bad pick-up lines?”

Momo had been exhaling with relief that Mina, reliably, figured everything out in less than a minute, but at that last part she forces out an exaggerated gasp of affront. “You think they’re bad??”

This only tickles Mina further into laughter—an infectious sound that makes it hard for Momo to maintain her scowl. “You think they’re _good_?”

“Well, sorry in advance, but I have to flirt 20 times today and you’re the only person I want to flirt with.” Still feigning outrage, Momo sets her jaw moodily, but a gentle hand sliding discreetly from her wrist to her forearm effectively assuages her. “Unless you want me to spare you and make other people suffer instead. I mean, I heard from someone that apparently I have groupies?”

Mina’s response is prefaced by a lively chuckle, her whole face glowing with amusement. “No, please. No flirting with any groupies. Well... one groupie is okay.”

“The one I’m dating?” Momo asks teasingly.

“Yes, her.” Though Momo would like that hand to remain exactly where it is, or maybe touch her everywhere else it wants, the school bell’s ring prompts Mina to draw it back. “Oh, and you forgot your jacket in the car yesterday, so I have it.”

“You know what else you have?” Momo foresees Mina’s groan of secondhand embarrassment before she even lets it out, but she gives the girl her best winning grin nonetheless. “My heart.”

“Oh my God.”

-

 **[Top Chef | 7:40]** _my mentor advice of the day: don’t take Japanese literature when you’re a senior next year_  
**[Top Chef | 7:40]** _Sana told me it would be an easy A but that was a LIE_  
**[Kitchen Nightmares | 7:41]** _she told me to take Japanese poetry… I think it might be the same class_  
**[Top Chef | 7:41]** _you know who looks like poetry?_  
**[Top Chef | 7:42]** _you_  
**[Top Chef | 7:42]** _:)_  
**[Kitchen Nightmares | 7:42]** _oh wow they’re actually getting worse_  
**[Top Chef | 7:43]** _what are you talking about, that was a solid 9/10_  
**[Kitchen Nightmares | 7:43]** _4/10… 5/10 if we’re being generous_  
**[Top Chef | 7:44]** _you’re wrong but that’s okay_  
**[Top Chef | 7:44]** _because *you’re* a 10/10_  
**[Top Chef | 7:44]** _:)))))))_  
**[Kitchen Nightmares | 7:45]** _how low does this rating system go_  
**[Top Chef | 7:46]** _THIS IS SANA please stop texting momo she’s already not getting a good grade in this class WHICH *IS* AN EASY A if she would only pay attention instead of sending lame pick-up lines_  
**[Top Chef | 7:46]** _ps if you weren’t here she’d be using these lines on the rest of us so thank you, you’re doing the lord’s work_  
**[Top Chef | 7:46]** _this is Momo again and just because you have a second opinion agreeing with you it doesn’t mean my lines are bad_

-

In between second and third period, Momo swings her locker door open and smiles instantly when she catches sight of Mina hurriedly making her way to her.

“Hi—”

“Momo, I need a favor,” Mina tells under her breath while her eyes dart to the end of the hallway. “First—can we please practice at my studio after school this week?” After school? Doesn’t Mina have detention? Momo nods anyway, puzzled but spurred by Mina’s request to simply nod. “Okay, thank you—and by the way, Nayeon is going to come over here, probably pissed off, and I need you to just go along with it.”

Momo barely finishes her question (“Go along with what?”) before Nayeon appears beside them as though conjured out of thin air, just as irate as Mina had foretold. She doesn’t address Momo, however—her indignation is aimed solely at Mina when she demands, forcefully but not loudly, “Myoui Mina, did you seriously scam me out of doing detention with you?”

Contrasting Nayeon’s temper, currently boiling over volcanically, Mina’s response is almost shockingly steady and calm. “I had to choose the weekend detention option because Momo and I have to finish this last routine for the squad after school this week.”

Oh. Now Mina’s inquiry earlier is making sense. 

“Yes,” Momo agrees, nod firm and sure. “We have to finish it.” Wait. No, they don’t; the routine is done, isn’t it? Why—

“I picked the week-day option because of what _you_ told me and now I have detention _by myself_ —”

Mina’s steadfast patience is kind of astounding, now that Momo is watching it in action. “You won’t be by yourself; you’ll have Jeongyeon—”

“Um, that’s worse than being alone!” Nayeon retorts imperiously, then presses on accusingly, “and you’re ditching me just so you can go hang out with Momo—whatever happened to ‘sisters before misters’?! I mean, yes, I know Momo is technically a sister, too, but my point stands—”

“You’ll be _fine_ —” Mina is reassuring, and it dawns on Momo that these two never actually have fights. It’s why Nayeon feels secure enough to have this outburst, why Mina isn’t abrased by Nayeon’s animosity—underneath the conflict there’s some certainty there that at the end of this, neither will be mad at the other. Briefly, Momo ponders that she’s not sure she could handle Mina ever being mad at her, either; can’t imagine yelling at her, can’t imagine what a fight with her would be like, because it feels like Mina is already under her skin, tucked snugly between her organs and her bones, deeply enough that any small knick or scratch could make her bleed. 

Meanwhile, Nayeon’s tantrum continues undeterred. “Listen, I lent my laptop to that moron for 5 minutes to finish our assignment yesterday and she went into my Apple Music, reset my music library, and now all my playlists have Peruvian folk songs and Iceland’s Top 40 hits,” Nayeon discloses bitterly, causing Mina to laugh and Momo to avert her own face to hide a smile. Neither action seems particularly amusing to the exasperated girl, and she changes tactics, tone lowering into solemnity. “What if I murder her? Do you really want her blood on your hands?”

“You’re not going to murder anyone,” Mina counters, upbeat even as Nayeon’s infuriation begs to disagree.

“How do you know? I’m _vicious_ and _ruthless_ and _heartless_ —”

The school bell summons the students to third period, after which Mina replies flatly, “you cry when you see elderly people holding hands and posters of missing children.”

Momo, who honestly hadn’t planned on laughing and inflaming the situation further, succumbs to the urge the moment she spots Nayeon’s resigned eye-roll.

“You’re up to something, and we are _not done_ talking about this,” Nayeon declares darkly, in many ways a storm cloud retreating down the hallway. 

Mina turns to Momo, a sun-like gleam reaching out from her eyes. An inarticulable rush of attraction blooms inside Momo, and the more she feels this, the more she can’t remember ever _not_ feeling like this. “Thank you; that was perfect.” 

“You know who’s perfect?” Mina is already groaning, though a understated flush betrays a bitten-back smile. “You.”

“Five out of ten.”

-

Momo is on her way to fourth period when Jeongyeon joins her with heavy, moody steps. Before Momo extends as much as a greeting, she’s already gritting out, “I need you to convince Mina to switch her detention to the week-day option.” And before Momo can continue to “go along with it” as Mina requested, Jeongyeon is adding broodingly, “I really think that if I have to go to detention every day this week with the Antichrist, I might murder her.”

It’s odd, that Nayeon and Jeongyeon have phrased their concern in the exact same way, but Momo pushes that aside to rebut, “no, you won’t; you guys will be fine—”

“I’ll murder her and then I’ll go to prison, and finish high school by mail like those convicts in the movies.” She’s pulling out her phone from her pocket when Momo, frowning, notices her screen.

“Why is Nayeon your lockscreen?”

“Huh?” Jeongyeon seems to notice this for the first time, too: a picture of said girl, smiling dazzlingly into the camera in the kind of picture that looks professionally taken, but isn’t—Nayeon is just that good-looking, and that skilled with her selfies, apparently. Horrified, Jeongyeon immediately sputters, “motherfu—I let her use my Google Maps for _2 minutes_ —”

Here, too, a thoroughly entertained Nayeon materializes unprompted in the hallway, just in time to taunt haughtily, “amateur move, Yoo,” before resuming an elegant walk towards her class, encircled by three other adoring—worshipping?—SM students. These students laugh at her comment but are instantly silenced when Nayeon snaps, “excuse you—only _I_ can make fun of her ineptitude.”

As Nayeon regally disappears from sight, Jeongyeon releases something like a growl, heated both by disbelief and fury. “And this is on top of what she did yesterday when we were studying,” she tells Momo resentfully, tapping an app and displaying the resulting screen to Momo. “She uploaded 20 selfies to my Instagram and renamed my account ‘Korea’s #1 Im Nayeon Fansite.’ I gained like 300 followers in less than a day.” Momo clasps a hand over her mouth to contain a laugh, and a displeased, unimpressed Jeongyeon gripes, “even after I changed my account back, her stans are still flooding my comments to fangirl over her—I’ve found something _worse than death_ , Momo.”

Momo repeats herself, because no variety of comforting words will do the job here anyway. “You’ll be fine, Jeong.”

-

Halfway through fourth period, Momo muses that time has become an abstract thing as of late, because it rushes by so quickly in Mina’s presence and drags by endlessly in her absence.

 **[Kitchen Nightmares | 10:02]** _if you could go anywhere in the world for a day, where would you go?_

Momo scribbles down notes from an instructional video the professor is screening for the class, then peeks down at Mina’s text. She considers the question for the briefest second, typing her response with absentminded haste.

 **[Top Chef | 10:02]** _Osaka, definitely_  
**[Kitchen Nightmares | 10:02]** _really? Why Osaka?_

The pen halts atop the notebook paper. It’s true, that this is the place Momo would pick for a day trip. But complete honesty in this case now means having to disclose that she wants to go to Osaka because of Hana. And it’d be weird to talk about how much she misses her sister, how absolutely poorly she handled having to live far away from her, and how long it took for her to adapt to the distance, with the girl who sees her own brother five times a year and her parents even more rarely. 

So here, in this instance, Momo figures it’s better to lie.

 **[Top Chef | 10:03]** _I just really like Osaka_  
**[Top Chef | 10:03]** _I’m dating a really pretty girl who was born there_  
**[Kitchen Nightmares | 10:03]** _what a coincidence_  
**[Kitchen Nightmares | 10:04]** _I’m also dating a really pretty girl who was born there_  
**[Top Chef | 10:04]** _I’m the one who’s supposed to be flirting, ma’am_  
**[Kitchen Nightmares | 10:05]** _:)_

-

Sitting opposite Mina at their group’s lunch table and facing Mina directly like this is doing Momo’s attention span no favors. Chaeyoung has been bouncing on and off her side of the bench and they’re still waiting for Sana, Dahyun, Jihyo, and Tzuyu, but it’s quite an effort nonetheless to focus on the current conversation between Jeongyeon, Nayeon, and Mina, when she would rather return to the delinquent spot, to which Mina pulled her for a few minutes just after lunch period started. Mina hadn’t wasted any time kissing her, and Momo had wisecracked that for all of Mina’s insistence that Momo’s flirting is terrible, the lines did seem to be working. And then Mina admitted laughingly that the lines _are_ terrible, but Momo is “the exact opposite of terrible.” Remembering that exchange and what followed it is exceedingly unhelpful if she’s supposed to be listening to Nayeon’s latest rant of profound indignation.

“… and you know what I found out? That on one of the days, I’m going to have to clean one of the annex rooms and wear a _janitor jumpsuit_. Have you guys seen what it looks like?” General hums of denial around the table fuel her to reply, “well, I have, and let me tell you—I don’t know if eyeballs can vomit, but mine almost did.”

Not even a second passes before Jeongyeon is jumping in, as expected, to jab wryly, “do you want to guess how tiny is the violin we’re all playing right now—”

“I’m not going to discuss fashion choices with someone whose outfit looks as put-together as a _ransom letter_ —”

“Why are you looking at my outfit when yours looks like it’s mad at you—”

 **[Kitchen Nightmares | 11:48]** _Momo, did you see what Nayeon just did_

Truthfully, Momo’s attention had once again drifted off from Nayeon and her squabble companion, Jeongyeon; she’d been alternatively engrossed by her food and by Mina.

“Are you telling me I shouldn’t be wearing anything? Yoo Jeongyeon, didn’t I tell you to stop flirting with me, _gosh_ —”

 **[Top Chef | 11:48]** _no, I didn’t_  
**[Top Chef | 11:48]** _unfortunately I keep staring at this girl in front of me_  
**[Top Chef | 11:48]** _you should see the view from my side of the table_

She flicks a look up just in time to spot Mina’s blush and accompanying laugh; the sight and the sound expand inside her mind, occupying every corner. Momo wants to be alone with her very, very badly.

“How did you get _that_ from what I said—”

“—and let me tell you; being forced to clean buildings while wearing an out-of-season-brown jumpsuit is going to be my villain origin story, just watch—”

 **[Kitchen Nightmares | 11:49]** _I actually really like the view from my side_

And now Mina is pouring her gaze over Momo unreservedly, placing Momo’s mind inside a memory not ten-minutes old. Momo’s jaw throbs where Mina traced her fingertips, and her lip tingles in the exact spot Mina brushed her tongue.

“I thought your _birth_ was your villain origin story.”

Momo only realizes how intently they’ve been watching each other when Dahyun and Tzuyu arrive, asking Mina to take a look at one of their projects.

“Yes, of course; I’ll be right back.” Against all reason, Momo startles a bit when Mina speaks up her assent, very clearly addressing Momo, and she’s reminded that they’d been carrying on an entirely non-verbal, covert, and parallel conversation to Jeongyeon and Nayeon’s. There’s so much she and Mina do when no one is looking, where the trees or cars or her guards hide them from view, and here is one small thing they’re giving to the world.

Mina’s subsequent absence alerts Momo to all these peripheral things she hadn’t noticed: that Jeongyeon and Nayeon have continued to rudely critique each other’s outfits even while they apparently share a plate of shaved ice. That Dahyun and Tzuyu have arrived, yes, but their girlfriends have too—off to the side, bookending the bench, are Sana and Jihyo, poring over what looks to be building blueprints. 

As the lunch period is concluding, the table setup has changed slightly; Momo, who had been discussing a drama with Sana and Tzuyu, overhears parts of the conversation Nayeon, Chaeyoung, and Jihyo are having about the upcoming cheerleading squad’s party, and whether it’ll have a theme as couple-friendly as the one from last year. Nayeon is announcing dismissively, “I have dignity and self-esteem; I’m not going to be one of those clichéd people who meet the love of their life in high school. Jihyo and Tzuyu already have that covered, and apparently you two, also,” prompting Jihyo and Tzuyu, and Sana and Dahyun, to trade matching smiles of acknowledgement. 

Later, as everyone is packing up their backpacks and books, Jeongyeon grumbles to Momo how little she’s looking forward to planning the squad’s party, and, casting a side-eye at Nayeon (who’s commenting to Chaeyoung, “gosh, it must be so difficult living life always needing a ladder”), she huffs, “how did we end up friends with someone who’s literally all the forces of evil concentrated in one person?”

Before Jeongyeon can add some other less-than-favorable comment, Mina is beside them, asking, “I’m not sure who’s organizing the squad party everyone keeps mentioning, but can we please not have a couple theme?”

Jeongyeon grimaces. “It’s me... I don’t really ever plan parties but I got stuck with it this year. Why don’t you want a couple theme? It’d work out for at least a few people.” Her eyebrows slant up suggestively at the essentially non-existing space separating Mina from Momo.

“Not for Nayeon,” Mina posits with measured care and palpable sincerity. “Just before we came to JYP, she and her ex broke up; this other senior she dated after me, who cheated on her—”

Momo is saddened by the revelation, and more deeply than she could have anticipated, but Jeongyeon is apparently nothing short of shocked, enough to interject with disbelief, “someone cheated on _her_?” Mina’s reaction is a series of mini-expressions: a frown, a very slight tilting of her head, and that same glint in her eyes, signaling an unsure curiosity Momo has now seen a few times, and has been meaning to ask about. “I mean—someone actually put up with her long enough to cheat on her?” Jeongyeon elaborates quickly, but Mina’s expression doesn’t change. It softens, and almost disappears, but Momo can still pinpoint exactly where it quirks a corner of her mouth. “Anyway, yeah; I guess I can see about some other theme. We can talk about it when we do our leadership meeting.”

Nodding her thanks and offering Momo a small smile of farewell, Mina returns to where Nayeon has been holding her backpack.

“You’re not afraid?” Jeongyeon’s question seems devoid of context, especially when it’s so uncharacteristically quiet and cautious; so much so that Momo can only stare at her questioningly until she clarifies, “of liking someone who’s so different from you? I mean, you and Mina are like the definition of falling too hard, too fast, so don’t you get afraid? That it won’t work out because you’re so different?”

Momo’s eyes flit back to Mina and her small-stepped retreat from the courtyard alongside Nayeon. She really was afraid before—that she picked Mina and Mina wouldn’t pick her back, that Momo would just have to carry her feelings for Mina inside her and the farthest place away from Mina wouldn’t be far enough to leave them behind. Now, Momo can’t imagine making any other choices than the ones that led her here. 

“Being different doesn’t feel like a bad thing. I like how different she is from me. I wouldn’t change anything about her, or us.”

-

 **[Kitchen Nightmares | 10:03]** _good night Momo_  
**[Top Chef | 10:03]** _wait don’t go to sleep yet_  
**[Top Chef | 10:03]** _Are you ‘MM97’ that just left a comment on my last choreo video_  
**[Kitchen Nightmares | 10:04]** _What would make you think that’s me?_  
**[Top Chef | 10:04]** _-_- well besides the obvious_  
**[Top Chef | 10:04]** _Someone had commented ‘omfg she’s so hot does anyone know if she’s dating anyone’ and this MM97 replied to that comment_  
**[Top Chef | 10:05]** _‘I’m pretty sure she is’_  
**[Kitchen Nightmares | 10:05]** _It seems like MM97 was just being a good groupie and giving people information they asked for_  
**[Top Chef | 10:05]** _why do people think you’re the cooler person in this relationship_  
**[Kitchen Nightmares | 10:05]** _because I am :)_  
**[Top Chef | 10:06]** _okay i don't want to mess up your sleep so good night rest well and have good dreams_  
**[Top Chef | 10:06]** _speaking of_  
**[Top Chef | 10:06]** _know who looks like a dream?_  
**[Top Chef | 10:06]** _:)_  
**[Kitchen Nightmares | 10:07]** _I thought that line about how I’m hotter than the bottom of your laptop was the last one for the list_  
**[Top Chef | 10:07]** _it was_  
**[Top Chef | 10:07]** _I just wanted to say this one_  
**[Kitchen Nightmares | 10:08]** _:))))))_  
**[Kitchen Nightmares | 10:08]** _10/10_

-

Nayeon is running late for their leadership meeting, so Momo, Mina, and (an increasingly aggravated) Jeongyeon huddle outside a pastry shop a block away from the school. After Mina momentarily steps away to speak to one of her guards, Jeongyeon queries idly, “so, did you and Mina come up with the new routine?”

That… is a great question. And one Momo doesn’t know how to answer. Jeongyeon is asking because this is how Momo and Mina explained away Mina’s choice of weekend detention, but they already _had_ developed a new routine, and yesterday, for an example, they spent 2 hours at her studio and about 20% of it was them dancing, and 80% was Momo eating spoonfuls of different ice creams while Mina tried to guess the flavors by kissing her.

So. No, technically, they don’t have a new routine.

Momo opens her mouth to express as much, but this is when Nayeon finally arrives, in step with an also-returning Mina.

“I aged ten thousand years waiting for you,” Jeongyeon deadpans.

“Yes, you look like it,” Nayeon concurs, smiling primly.

Jeongyeon rolls her eyes and looks ready to release one long sigh that will never end; they’re shoulder-to-shoulder when they enter the unappealingly-crowded pastry shop, however, ahead of Mina and Momo, so the counter attendant approaches the two of them first, proceeding to suggest politely, “welcome; we have a couple’s booth that we just vacated if you two would like it.” Which is the last thing Momo—and just about everyone who knows Jeongyeon and Nayeon—would ever expect to hear.

They register the appropriate and expected reactions—a well-blended mix of repugnance and bafflement—and Momo cringes in anticipatory embarrassment as Mina discreetly recoils from the impending scene.

“ _Excuse me_ —”

“We are not a couple, ma’am—”

“—we _hate_ each other—”

“—can’t _stand_ one another—”

“—only reason I haven’t murdered her yet is because I don’t want blood splatters ruining my clothes—”

“—would rather just die alone than be a couple with Darth Vader—”

Mina enlists Momo in pulling the two away from the entrance and towards one of the non-couple tables, which they manage to do while bowing apologetically to the wide-eyed attendant.

“Ugh—the insult!” Nayeon is huffing after she and Jeongyeon have sat down across from Momo and Mina, “this is the _rudest_ thing that’s ever happened to me—”

Jeongyeon, who had earlier made known the level of her hunger, is already leafing through the menu and unceremoniously cuts Nayeon off with, “do you want the same strawberry thing you got last time?”

For some reason, Mina immediately glances at Momo, who reflexively leans in, expecting her to say something. She doesn’t, however, and meanwhile, Nayeon, too, has begun to study the menu with Jeongyeon.

“I think you’d like this one,” Jeongyeon is commenting as Momo shuffles through the menu she’s supposed to be sharing with Mina, who, for her part, appears to be still engrossed in the interaction between the two girls in front of them. “It’s a lot like the one you stole from my plate that one time and blamed it on a bird, remember?”

“Oh, that one was too sweet, though.”

“This one is less sugary.”

“Okay, but get the savory one, too, and we can split both—and you better not give me 20% of it while you get 80% and then try to tell me your hand slipped when you were cutting it in half, because my _fist_ will slip onto your face, Yoo.”

Muttering a complaint under her breath, Jeongyeon turns to Momo, who jumps in with the order she’ll share with Mina (“one cheesecake and one peanut bread, please”), after which Jeongyeon stands from their table to join the ordering line.

Nayeon is businesslike and serious when she questions, “okay, Momo, so can I ask why you got the least qualified person to plan the squad party?” It has to be a senior, Momo wants to explain, and it’s usually the vice-captain, which is Nayeon, yes, but the whole SM-transplant segment of the squad has been at JYP for less than a month so it doesn’t seem fair to—“I mean, what’s next? Is Mina going to be your social media coordinator?”

“I resent that,” a bristling Mina grumbles, to which Nayeon counters, without missing a beat, “what’s your Instagram password?”

To Momo’s surprise, Mina opens and shuts her mouth in quick succession, going on to squint up as though in deep concentration. 

Momo is unable to help her own curiosity, though, and fishes her phone out of her pocket. “Oh, you did mention you were on Instagram. What’s your—”

With unhidden incredulity, Nayeon interrupts, “you’re dating Momo and she doesn’t follow you?” before adding matter-of-factly, now addressing Momo, “by the way, she posts once every 6 months and I have more pictures of her in my Instagram than she has on her own. Anyway, I rest my case.”

“Maybe _you_ should help Jeongyeon plan the party,” Mina proposes, voice strangely controlled. 

Nayeon is horrified. “Mina! Are you concussed or something? I already have detention with her every day—”

“You planned all of _our_ parties, and this would be for the good of the squad,” an unfazed Mina argues, and the gears in Momo’s brain are spun into motion. Mina… is doing something here. “I mean, Jeongyeon will _hate_ working with you, too, and she has _no idea_ we’re even suggesting this, but I think you should collaborate.” Nayeon’s brows, furrowed closely to supplement a very intense look of suspicion, begin to relax just as she shifts her attention to Jeongyeon, still patiently waiting in line.

“Unsuspecting and innocent,” Nayeon murmurs conspiratorially, piquing Momo’s alarm about 500 levels. “My favorite combination.”

She’s smug and jaunty when she rises from her seat, and Momo waits for exactly one second to ensure Nayeon is out of earshot, before stating resolutely, “first, that detention day switch, and now, this. Nayeon is right. You _are_ up to something.” Mina pivots her gaze from Nayeon’s predatory approach of Jeongyeon, and Momo watches her expression morph from thrilled smile to guilty flinch.

“I… well…” She worries her lip between her teeth, but whatever effort she initiated to come up with a lie is rapidly discarded, because she admits lowly, “okay, yes, but it’s for a good cause.”

Perhaps because Momo can only register blatant surprise that she was actually right and Mina really has been scheming something this whole time, Mina hurries on to explain, “Momo, I think Nayeon likes Jeongyeon.”

There’s no possible way she’s hearing this correctly.

“Likes her as in, would like her to be run over by a car?”

“No. Likes her as in, has feelings for her.”

All Momo can do is gape at Mina, faintly aware that she would have fallen out of her seat if they weren’t in a booth.

“ _EH?_ ”

She casts a bewildered look at the two girls in question.

“—you think I’m actually going to voluntarily hang out with the human version of a full-body rash—”

“—everything about you _horrifies_ me and yet here I am, doing charity by not leaving you to stew in your incompetence—”

And then turns back to Mina with renewed skepticism, just to ask whether they’re really talking about the same people.

“There’s a look Nayeon gives Jeongyeon sometimes,” Mina continues, quiet but urgent, and in a careful way that tells Momo she’s thought about this a great deal. “I know that look. I _received_ that look, back when she liked me.”

Either Mina really is concussed, as Nayeon speculated, or… she’s onto something.

“And I don’t know Jeongyeon as well as I know Nayeon, but I think she likes her, too. I know they insult each other all the time, but I don’t think they _mean_ it.”

Momo tunes back to Jeongyeon and Nayeon—

“And you don’t even have time to help me, I mean, don’t you have souls to collect? I thought the Grim Reaper had a booked schedule.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a pest? No? I’m glad to be the first.”

—and then quickly tunes out. “I don’t even know where to start,” Momo declares flatly.

“How does Jeongyeon usually act with someone she likes?” Mina persists, watching Momo with hope but trepidation, as though genuinely worried that Momo will never agree with her. And Momo is ill-inclined to confirm her concerns, but the answer to that is: definitely not the way she acts with Nayeon. And she’s prepared to tell Mina this, but then she remembers.

_(“You’re not afraid?”)_

Why did Jeongyeon want to know this?

_(“Of liking someone who’s so different from you?”)_

Momo was looking at Mina. But Mina wasn’t alone; she was walking with someone else.

Maybe... 

“Well, she hasn’t dated anyone long-term; lots of girls are always after her but she’s always been really focused on school.” That she’s answering this without the previous resistance pleases Mina immensely, she can tell. “You think they like each other but just don’t know it?”

“I don’t think they’ve put it together yet,” Mina confirms, hushed words speeding up with excitement. “But I think we could help them realize it.”

Momo makes note of the “we” and lifts an eyebrow at Mina, who blushes but then reaches for her hand under the table and yeah, Momo is going to agree to whatever she wants, isn’t she?

Nayeon and Jeongyeon have presumably stoked a temporary ceasefire as they debate the merits of a decade-themed versus a costume-themed party. Jeongyeon is disagreeing; Momo interprets the set of her jaw and the semi-eyeroll as definitive signs that Jeongyeon and Nayeon are not on the same page, but then... Nayeon, most likely subconsciously, as she’d never admit to doing this willingly, lays her fingertips on Jeongyeon’s forearm. And then...

“Fine, fine... at least you’ll be able to take off your human disguise and reveal your true demon form—”

“Stop finding new ways to tell me to take my clothes off—gosh, Jeongyeon, don’t you ever listen—”

Jeongyeon was looking at Nayeon, wasn’t she?

“You’re not just going to keep tricking them into doing things together, are you?” Momo queries, though her tone makes clear how decidedly on board she is now, and Mina beams so happily that she actually angles herself forward just a small inch, like she does when she wants Momo to kiss her, before apparently remembering where they are.

“No, I think they’ll notice if I do that again—Nayeon, especially; she’s already suspecting it. So I was thinking of something else.” Mina has, in fact, thought about this a great deal, as she does about everything. They’re dating already and yet each new peek she gains into how Mina’s mind works is a rush all of its own; a giddiness that almost hurts with how much it fills her. “Remember the charity date auction the school is having next week?”

-

**THE PRESENT**

The small, antiquely-adorned elevator wheezes and then stutters brusquely into a stop, in what appears to Mina as some halfway point between one floor and another. The bright overhead illumination flickers off in favor of hazard lighting that bathes the small space in a dim, orange glow. She casts a worried glance at the elevator’s control panel, now also alarmingly dark, and as she presses the emergency alarm button and decides against activating her own distress sensor—her security team will lock down the entire building and perhaps close off the whole block if she does that—she regrets for the first time in many years not having her guards with her. She had figured that this being a gown fitting for Jeongyeon and Nayeon’s bridesmaids and maids of honor in an upscale atelier meant she should probably forego keeping her usual security setup, settling instead for a team positioned on the roof and another on the first floor. Amid Nayeon’s raves for the designer (“I mean, this is the fashion house that dressed me for the Oscars—of course she’s designing my dress and all of yours as well”), Nayeon had also provided some information that should have raised some red flags (“the atelier is in a historic site from the 1960’s!” and “even with the renovation, the building is practically all original!”), but unfortunately didn’t. And now this is the result: Mina is stuck in a 50-year-old elevator inside which she has no phone reception.

She’s moodily calculating just how many meters away her roof-posted guards are, when a distorted wisp of a voice sneaks into the small space from one of the mid-century-styled vents, just below the elevator ceiling.

_“… six waters, also, please.”_

Is that… Sana’s voice? 

_“Where are they? Mina texted me five minutes ago that she was already parking.”_

And that’s Nayeon’s voice—this elevator must have stopped somewhere under the atelier’s floor.

“Nayeon? Sana?” a hopeful Mina calls out tentatively into the vent, reminded immediately that she’s never been the strongest-voiced person in their group and this is definitely working against her right now. Then, as she receives no response, she also realizes that yes, she can quite clearly hear her friends, but the inverse is not true.

 _“I just texted Momo, too…”_ Nayeon tells, as Mina is examining her sensor again to double-check that her own guards haven’t activated it for her. _“Oh, speaking of, and before she or Mina get here, guess what—all those gifts Momo kept giving me last week were just her preparing to ask me to pretend to be her ‘high-profile client’ so she can avoid conflict with that ex of hers over Mina.”_

Mina stiffens, sensor dropping against her chest. 

_“Which ex?”_ Dahyun asks with interest.

 _“You know… What’s-Her-Face… that one I really hated,”_ Nayeon replies casually.

 _“You’ve hated every single person Mina and Momo dated after they dated each other so you have to be more specific,”_ Jihyo counters pointedly, the last part of her sentence drowned out by muffled laughter.

 _“The one I really despised. Not the college one—don’t get me started on that one, though—the one Momo dated when she was an intern,”_ Nayeon continues, unbothered.

An amused Tzuyu complements, _“oh, yeah; the one who hated it whenever we brought up Mina,”_ and though every new bit of information has picked more and more effectively at her curiosity, now Mina can’t help a deep frown as she starts to wonder if perhaps, for the sake of preserving Momo’s privacy, she should make some attempt to cover her ears or blast some music from her phone to drown out a conversation upon which she’s so guiltily eavesdropping.

Meanwhile, Nayeon is adding with a grunt, _“God, can you imagine if she finds out Momo is actually talking to Mina now?”_ and, well, that certainly doesn’t help her damper her curiosity.

Chaeyoung is quick to pile on, _“she’s going to gloat for the next 40 years that she was right all along and Momo wasn’t over Mina,”_ just as Mina notices with a flood of relief the elevator’s control panel lighting back to life.

_“—can you hear her whiny voice? I can actually hear it; it’s like microphone feedback in my ear—”_

_“Yes, totally; it’s making my eye twitch—”_

Interrupting Nayeon and Chaeyoung’s mutually-encouraging chat, Sana posits with a laugh, _“wow, you guys really hate her.”_

 _“So do you!”_ Nayeon accuses easily. _“And weren’t you the one who looked Mina’s ex right in the eye when they started dating and told him that Mina was going to break his heart?”_

That slight tinge of guilt morphs into full unease as Mina is overcome by a different kind of horror—not the trepidation of finding out something about Momo to which she shouldn’t be privy, but the possibility of stumbling upon information about herself that, frankly, she’d rather not know. Under her breath, she prays that whoever is resetting and repairing this elevator does so quickly. 

_“And that’s exactly what Mina did, the poor fella…”_

_“I’m just saying; I feel bad for the people they dated, that’s all. Let’s be honest here—would anyone want to date Momo after Mina?”_

Against the backdrop of this latest question, Mina recalls that throughout the past week, though they haven’t really seen each other in person, she and Momo have restored between them a sort of makeshift, tentative friendship. It has oscillated between being an easy, familiar thing, like it’s muscle-memory to enjoy Momo’s company, and something wholly unnatural, a violent stirring in her gut against which she’s constantly fighting back. It’s that latter sentiment that makes her almost light-headed with gratitude now that she and Momo _didn’t_ remain friends after breaking up, because it would have been terrible—truly, truly wretched—to watch Momo be in love with someone who wasn’t her.

 _“We’ve been talking about how we need to save Mina from herself; maybe Momo’s consultancy thing will actually work and she’ll get someone decent,”_ Jihyo opines optimistically.

 _“You know, we dump on Mina all the time for her trash taste in men—”_ Though no one will see it, Mina rolls her eyes, then wishes she had an additional pair of eyes so she could roll those, too, when Chaeyoung laments, _“—yeah, Mina’s taste is a disgrace—”_

_“—at least Mina isn’t dating someone with the same name as her—do you know how weird it was for me to write a wedding save-the-date to ‘Chaeyoung & Chaeyoung’?”_

_“Sounds horrific. How are you holding up?”_

_“How do you hold so much sass in such a tiny body?”_

_“I actually grew a fourth of an inch this year.”_

_“So you’ll be normal-sized in 47 years, is what you’re saying.”_

_“—yeah, Mina’s dated some dumpster fires—”_ Sana is continuing while Nayeon and Chaeyoung are apparently laughing at one another, and, helpless to express her displeasure, Mina simply grunts sullenly inside the elevator; _“—but Momo hasn’t dated any stellar people either—”_

_“Who do you think dealt with the break-up better? Mina completely avoiding everything that had to do with Momo—”_

_“—or Momo doing the opposite? Good question.”_

Two undistinguishable voices agree, _“Mina, definitely,”_ while another undetermined number insists, _“Momo, of course,”_ and Mina’s mind splits in two different directions. One is pondering whether she should feel hurt or comforted that Momo didn’t feel the need to flee from everything that she shared with Mina. Another wants to join in this debate and contribute her own opinion: that obviously, whatever method Momo chose is the one that worked, not hers. Momo is the one who wanted to be friends and is fine with literally searching for someone for Mina to date whereas Mina is in a semi-constant state of shock that this is all actually happening, and not a nightmare. Clearly, if their handling of their break-up was some kind of competition, it’s not one Mina won.

She’s momentarily unsteadied when the elevator suddenly hiccups back into function. A second later its doors split open to reveal an expansive, elegant, and brightly-lit fashion studio, inside which Mina spots all six of the friends whose conversation she unwittingly overheard: Sana, Dahyun, Jihyo, Tzuyu, Chaeyoung and Nayeon. 

All six smile happily; Nayeon is the one who greets, “oh, you’re finally here.”

Mentally shoving aside her most immediate impulse—which is to blurt out, “what do you mean I have trash taste?!” or “what a coincidence; one of my exes hates Momo, too”—Mina elects to remorsefully say instead, “sorry I’m late,” and then whirls to the side after recognizing that a familiar voice merged itself with her own, to deliver the exact same apology, at exactly the same time. While the elevator deposited her onto this floor, Momo had apparently simultaneously emerged from a nearby door, flushed, breathless, and sheepish.

A seemingly harmless burst of curiosity draws her brows together after she catches Momo’s eye and they trade a half-second-long look of acknowledgement. She hasn’t seen Momo appear to be in any stage of exertion since they’ve begun to speak again—in fact, Momo’s perpetual composure has been occasionally jarring, in those moments where she’s let herself compare High School Momo to Professional Consultant Momo—but now she can’t help wondering, when was the last time she saw Momo in this state?

“Sorry; I just ran up 5 flights of stairs—”

Was it while she was dancing? Or working out? Or—

Oh, no. _Crap._

Instantly, she regrets allowing her mind to even consider this question. Her stomach sinks and she fights desperately against a blush of her own as her mind fires back a flash of memory she wishes fervently she could have avoided, that now almost brands itself down to her muscles and bones, because _don’t think about this don’t think about this don’t think about this_ she remembers—

—panting, but still trying to say her name. Mouth-made bruises on the inside of her thighs and all over her chest. Teeth dragged against her feverish, shivering skin, then soothed by a tongue licking her everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. Murmured reassurances of wanting her, of missing her, of loving her, traced languidly on her neck. Wet strokes that were just as hard as she wanted, just as fast as she needed, unravelling her from the inside out underneath Momo’s overheated body—

—she remembers. That was the last time she witnessed an almost identical bloom of pink staining Momo’s cheeks and the irregularity of her labored breathing. Mina had successfully suppressed all memories of sex with Momo for five whole years—a self-preservation effort, she theorizes, so she could have some chance of enjoying sex with other people—and it’s precisely now, of all moments, that her brain decides to unearth this. What the hell is this timing? She’s _baffled_. And _infuriated_.

And also aware, suddenly, that Momo has just finished explaining, disconcerted in a most endearing way, “—because I guess the elevator got stuck and had to be reset, and I was already late,” making it Mina’s turn to divulge her side of the development, as well. 

“It was my elevator that got stuck,” she confirms lamely, glad for the flat, matter-of-fact quality of her voice as an assurance that no one will be tipped off that her previous train of thought was… not very appropriate.

Their parallel mishaps seem to amuse their friends; Nayeon dismisses their apologies with a graceful wave of her hand, and proceeds to enthusiastically introduce everyone to the designer. “These are Sana, Jihyo, and Chaeyoung, they’re my bridesmaids; Seungyeon, Dahyun, Tzuyu are Jeongyeon’s—she’s traveling with my father and hers, so she couldn’t be here—that’s Mina; she’s my maid of honor, and Momo, beside her, is Jeongyeon’s.”

Once the designer indicates that the bridesmaids will be fitted first, Nayeon and the others disappear into a room adjacent to the main chamber, leaving Mina to survey the perimeter and take a seat by a wide-paneled window that affords a pleasant view of the narrow, winding streets below. 

A welcome distraction from confronting the reality that she’s alone here, with Momo. 

Momo, who liked to kiss Mina through it so she could drink the gasps from her mouth, and then liked to kiss her way down Mina’s body afterwards, mumbling smilingly, I’m not done yet, you’re not done yet.

Momo, whose wet cheek Mina wiped once—wet from _her_ —while she blurted out, breath not quite recovered, that she was addicted to Momo.

Momo, who now wordlessly joins her, tablet in hand and lopsided smile greeting her, presumably intending to make the most of this short span of free time while completely unaware that Mina can’t stop thinking about the times Momo would—

“I’m surprised your security people didn’t shut down the whole building.”

—dissolve under her tongue, because Mina knew when and where Momo liked hands or mouth; when and where she wanted pressure or licking or biting or sucking—

She swallows down a panicked noise caught in her throat, and wants to throw herself out of the window. Why? _Why_ is this happening? Why can’t she just shut her mind off, why— “I didn’t activate my sensor, so they probably don’t even know I was stuck in there.” If for no other reason than to wrench her mind up from the pit it’s fallen into, she queries quietly, “do you want to do some of the profile questions?”

In response, Momo’s grin spills from her mouth to her cheeks in clear appreciation—and yeah, okay, that doesn’t help.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” 

Now that their time is so limited to complete the program and Mina’s availability is increasingly scarce, Momo has had to call or text her a few times to gather information for certain portions of her profile before the looming deadline. The questions continue to be exhaustively detailed, covering topics that have been sometimes innocuous (“do you have any eating pet peeves?”), sometimes things she’s never considered (“is there any piece of technology you think you couldn’t live without?”), and sometimes they’ve cut into her (“what’s your best memory of a family vacation?” to which she’d had to reply, “I don’t really have any memories of family vacations.”). More than a few times, she’s wanted to tell Momo, these questions are pointless, the program won’t work, it won’t find anyone for me, it was you and now there’s no one, but even besides her parents’ insistence and the internet’s general consensus that the program is infallible, there’s Momo’s own opinion, which Mina holds in higher esteem than she holds even her own. 

That doesn’t preclude her from being of two minds on just how honest she should be in answering these questions, because half of her is glad she’s not baring her life to a stranger, and the other half wishes really badly that Momo _was_ a stranger, so she wouldn’t have to be constantly afraid that the more she exposes of herself, the closer Momo will get to discovering just how much Mina’s changed in the past 5 years, perhaps in precisely the parts that Momo used to love, and now maybe the very things Momo liked about her are no longer there. It terrifies her and bruises her heart a hundred times over, the notion that if Momo met her today with no memory of their previous relationship, she wouldn’t want her, wouldn’t want to keep her. In contrast, if she were to meet Momo under those same circumstances, she’d probably love Momo even more, even quicker.

The thought is gnawing and chewing its way through her when Momo fixes her gaze on Mina’s own and asks, with an exaggerated cringe and a tone that’s half disbelief and half taunt, “were you really part of a math club in college called ‘the Alge-bros’? Please say no.”

It takes Mina a second to piece together what Momo is talking about; when she remembers, the flicker of memory burns brightly in her mind again, overriding every previous train of thought and prompting her to release a low, startled half-laugh. “Oh, wow; I can’t believe you dug that up.”

Momo gasps, in feigned horror. “Oh my God—it’s true, then.” Mina laughs a little freer now, just as Momo is adding dryly, “nice to know you got even _cooler_ when you started college.”

“Well, the Alge-bros were the guys,” Mina informs, purposely serious now. “I was part of the Alge-bras.”

The quasi-solemn tone works—Momo laughs, too, and an unsubtle flutter of delight inside her chest almost makes her look away. “‘The Alge-bras.’ You actually say that, with a straight face and everything.”

It’s alarmingly easy to fall back into this. It’s probably always going to be easy, even when it really shouldn’t be. “I’m not straight and neither is my face, Momo.”

Momo’s emphatic, disheartened sigh prods her into laughter as well. “I have no idea now why I gave such a high score to your sense of humor when I’ve always known your jokes are lame like this.”

In mock outrage, Mina retorts, “they’re not lame. You always laughed at them.”

“They’re pity laughs, Mina—they don’t count.”

“You know, any joke told by a member of the Alge-bras counts.” She pauses for dramatic effect, and Momo’s groan is now hilariously appalled. “Get it? Because we did math.”

“If you keep losing points in the sense of humor category, it’s going to go down to a negative number,” Momo laments dramatically, “but you’d know all about negative numbers, being part of the _Alge-bras_ —” Mina can’t contain a laugh at Momo’s pointed dismay. “I can’t believe that’s the actual name, by the way. Please do let me know later how you graduated with all your dignity—oh, I almost forgot something else…” 

Momo swipes her tablet screen a few times, figure shrouded by sunlight, and Mina’s stomach ties itself into knots at having to talk herself out of being attracted to Momo. Suddenly, every strand of her muscles aches with the stifled urge to touch her and it’s _maddening_. She’s naturally not touchy with anyone. But she was, once, with one person. With this person. 

“Oh, here it is. You also got voted to be part of something called ‘The Freshest Fifteen.’” Momo raises an eyebrow, one step away from making fun of Mina again. “Do I want to know? Nothing could be more amazing than a math club, but is this one close?”

This one is, indeed, considered a brag-worthy feat, but Mina is nonetheless embarrassed when she reveals, “that’s… a kind of underground vote that the student body used to have every year on the fifteen most attractive freshmen. So I, um, got voted in the year I was a freshman.”

Momo doesn’t miss a beat before she’s chuckling, “first of all, I know it’s like the best business school in the world, but your college is awful.”

Yes, Mina wants to agree, even if for a different reason; yes, it was awful and I hated it. During her university years, Mina had harbored the belief that she disliked the place so much because it was far from her friends and because she had no particular attachment to her major. Meanwhile, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Momo always whispered back inside her mind that Mina had spent much of her life somewhat lost and aimless as to her position in the world—an expanse so enormous and yet simultaneously so suffocating and confining—until she arrived at JYP. And in the year and a half that followed, she knew. She was where Momo was, Momo was where she was supposed to be, Momo was where she was going. Then, she was aimless again.

“And second of all, of course you would be prouder of your mathletes membership than this. Never change, Mina.”

Okay, in hindsight, it might have been surprising to anyone who knew her that she left behind her most prominent hobbies from her high school years the moment she stepped foot in college, taking up so many activities in which she had expressed no interest before. But it was easier, and so much less painful, to do that when her mind managed to wrap everything from high school inside her memories of Momo.

[Cheerleading](https://66.media.tumblr.com/d0ac54c3e1a96951b1da938502f358e5/tumblr_olxmjqvuT91s2vcg0o6_400.gif) or dance, for an example, she never took up again. She [couldn’t have](https://66.media.tumblr.com/4264acf346e52aa8d6dbc5724ced62d6/tumblr_oqb8n4QjJ41qmrscao1_400.gif).

“I’m kind of surprised at how much you’ve dug up on me, to be honest,” Mina comments lightly, swallowing down the jagged rock in her throat. 

“Well, about half of your profile has been things I had to dig up a lot to find, like this,” Momo is noticeably enthusiastic as she reveals this, which Mina takes as indication that she doesn’t often get the opportunity to talk about her work. Now that she thinks about it, she’s Momo’s client so she’s not supposed to be talking about this with her, is she? “And half has been stuff I already know, like for an example, that you’re a great driver.”

Mina scoffs out a laugh. “You only put down that I’m a good driver because you taught me how to drive.”

Predictably, Momo moves around her very valid point by dismissing casually, “that you had an amazing teacher is irrelevant, of course.” And that’s what they’re laughing at—Momo’s delighted, rascally grin in response to Mina’s barely-there shove at Momo’s shoulder—when Nayeon re-enters the main chamber, FaceTiming Jeongyeon and grumbling, “… so maybe I’ll do that after I get lunch with your mom today, and by the way, if you come back from your Old Man Trip telling dad jokes I’m preemptively divorcing you,” although she immediately halts when she spots them. “Hold on, babe.” Nayeon catches Mina’s gaze and holds it for a long, questioning second—Mina really, really, doesn’t want to know what might be going through Nayeon’s mind at the moment—then smiles amicably at both. “Come on, you losers; it’s time for the maids of honor.”

-

It’s a crap day for both of them, apparently. Through her periodic texts with Momo, Mina learns that as one of the supervisors at the dating consultancy agency, Momo has been tasked with managing some kind of crisis with one of their clients, and if Momo’s liberal use of skull emojis is anything to go by, things are not looking good. Mina, in turn, trudged through an hours-long and migraine-inducing meeting with the rest of the financial board to discuss the projected impact of Brexit-created tax changes and unexpectedly-high American tariffs on Myoui Industries’ exports. She offers to meet Momo at the agency late in the afternoon so they may head from there to today’s program activity—a sort of mock date whose details Mina hadn’t cared to learn. 

When she enters the consultancy agency’s office space she muses that it’s something to marvel at, the fact that two months ago she first stepped foot onto these carpeted hallways, annoyed and inconvenienced, completely unsuspecting of the person she’d find back in her life. Two months ago—it feels like days and it feels like years.

A visibly nervous intern practically squeaks out a welcoming greeting and leads her to await Momo in her office. A rush of contentment warms her chest when she surveys her surroundings from the centermost point of the room and notices that Momo has now decorated and personalized the space that had been so spartan when she was last here. Then her gaze is pulled, as though magnetized, to the framed pictures adorning Momo’s desk: one of her with her parents and sister, one of her cradling a dog (of course), and two others—hidden, almost, and sort of angled towards the wall, as though Momo has tucked them out of sight with some frequency—of all nine of them. The warmth promptly frosts over.

This, too, she remembers. 

[One](https://66.media.tumblr.com/4ae71de9322b4fc51f02b8ef9f0b6831/tumblr_pd644qaTV61vymbnlo5_1280.jpg), from just before graduation. Momo had hung a larger version of this picture at her college dorm room, and Mina almost knocked it off the wall once because Momo was pressing her against it, and then they heard an inconspicuous knock and a “Miss Myoui?” outside the door, and, panicked, realized simultaneously that Mina had already flung Momo’s shirt off, and Momo had also accidentally clicked Mina’s distress sensor.

[The other](https://66.media.tumblr.com/76a8d99af37013b6ce778c2f00c0aaa0/tumblr_pol1trwHpn1ryyzom_540.jpg), from the cheerleading squad’s costume party. She and Momo picked their respective costumes according to what they thought the other one would like—a Japanese schoolgirl and a videogame character—to which Nayeon snarked, “so did you guys just dress up as each other’s kinks or something?” [Momo’s picture](https://66.media.tumblr.com/130d143a65a434fa49870b19a3c8b871/tumblr_pol1tr1aYK1ryyzom_1280.jpg) was Mina’s lockscreen for about a year after that.

She leans in closer; reckons that she hasn’t seen a picture of them together in years—she backed all of hers up into a nameless server, erased them from her phone, then purposely fled from any possibility of stumbling onto one… ran away from the past but the past ran after her, and caught up.

It’s not surprising, really, that while Mina practically deleted all pictures in which they were together, here’s Momo, displaying them in a frame, on her desk, because of course Momo got over them quicker and completely, as she was the one who ended things after all. It’s not surprising as much as it’s a reminder. Momo is over it. And Mina’s been purporting to be, too, but she’s not, is she?

Impulsively, she searches her personal emails for the one link she archived for that one hidden server only she can access, but never has before today. It takes a full minute of scrolling because she has no idea how she marked the email or what she named the server—it takes a full minute, and then she finds it. She clicks on the first item, titled as an assortment of letters and numbers, and belatedly realizes her phone has sort of initiated a slideshow, and [oh](https://66.media.tumblr.com/7de65935ec39c6ba72e13b5ff2744bdc/tumblr_pol1d05lNS1ryyzom_1280.jpg)—

[Oh](https://66.media.tumblr.com/cf03141e7a5c7367bc32092398f8fb75/tumblr_pol1kpg2dS1ryyzom_500.jpg).

This was a [bad](https://66.media.tumblr.com/134ff56439b0dc4a761974aac96a7d52/tumblr_pol1d02X6A1ryyzom_500.jpg), [bad](https://66.media.tumblr.com/b43edf346f2acfa398522d8d960b11d8/tumblr_pol1d1mNo61ryyzom_500.jpg) idea.

“Ms. Myoui, um… can I… can I get you anything?” It’s precisely the sort of terrified interaction she’s used to engaging in most places, so observing his rapid darted look at the two guards garlanding the doorway is almost comforting in a way. Shaking her head with a forced, sympathetic smile, she stashes her phone back into her purse. She can get over Momo some other day. This… is not that day.

“No, thank you.” Purely to resist the impulse to scrutinize the pictures for any additional period of time—and also, perhaps, to assuage the intern’s sweat-coated anxiety, she amends conversationally as she takes a seat, “how do you enjoy working here?”

That might have been the wrong course of action to take, if his blanching is any indication. Nevertheless, he swallows hard (and audibly) and responds, “I-I like it. Momo—Ms. Hirai, I mean—is training me and she’s great.” Well, that’s expected. Mina figures she can live ten lifetimes and never hear anyone say a negative thing about Momo. “And I like learning the process, and the algorithm, and how it works.” Before Mina can rein it back, she’s already sighed—it sounds disheartened and tired and pessimistic, and the intern notices. “Ms. Myoui, you don’t… you don’t like the program?”

Being completely frank with someone who presumably reports directly to Momo isn’t the wisest course of action, either, but she really is disheartened, tired, and pessimistic, so she queries, “do you have a confidentiality clause, too? With everyone—even your supervisors?” And once the now wide-eyed intern nods, she discloses quietly, “I don’t think it’ll work for me. The algorithm.” The intern looks absolutely scandalized by the statement, which is amusing enough to almost make her laugh. “I went through a really bad break-up a few years ago. And I don’t think I ever got over it.”

To her surprise, that admission strips him of some of his intimidation, and he’s emboldened when he replies, “Ms. Myoui, break-ups can be good. Momo told that to all of us interns during orientation.” Well, of course Momo would be the one person in the world able to turn a universally despised experience into a positive affirmation. “She’s the best consultant in the company and she said it was a really bad break-up of hers that made her so good at the job.” 

Mina stops breathing.

A half-second passes before the intern continues, “she was in her first year of college when it happened, and she said it was very painful for her and stayed with her for a long time but she really learned from it.” 

_(“And you’re good at this, right? This translation portion? Mr. Kang said you’re the best, and that’s why he picked you, since we didn’t have a lot of time. So I’m assuming you’re the best because you’re really good at that.”_

_“Yeah, because of that and other things.”)_

Oh, God. Now not only is Mina not breathing, her stomach has apparently been jolted up to her throat, and she tears her eyes from the intern to locate a trashcan she might potentially throw up in—only for Momo to materialize, bright-eyed and cheerful, at the doorway. The entirety of Mina’s body ignites and simultaneously simmers down.

“I’m so, so sorry for making you wait.” As the intern politely bows his way out of the office, Momo gives Mina’s guards an amiable greeting, before turning back to her. “Ready?”

No. Not at all.

“Yes, ready.”

-

Though Mina had sought to minimize the strangeness of going on a simulated first date with Momo as part of the consultancy—by completely avoiding thinking about it—she has to succumb to incredulity the moment she takes a seat across Momo inside a dimly-lit, closed-off corner of an upscale restaurant conveniently located a few blocks away from both the Myoui Industries’ building and JYP High School. The absurdity of the circumstance is mind-boggling—she’s on a _mock_ date with _Momo_. Five years after they broke up. If there was ever a time for her to wake up from this nightmare, this is it.

“So just as a reminder,” Momo explains helpfully, betraying nothing to match the horrified disbelief corroding Mina’s composure, “we’re going to simulate a date, and based on the information I’ve gathered so far from all the questionnaires, I’m going to try a variety of courting approaches and dating methods—” Oh God; this is even worse than she had thought. As she listens to each word, her cheeks feel hot as though scorched by a furnace, and that warmth sweeps out to her ears and neck. “—and gauge your receptiveness to each approach, but you can, and _should_ , respond with your own feedback on what works and doesn’t work for you—”

See, if this activity were to be performed with a consultant she wasn’t intimately acquainted with, Mina would understand its necessity. But as it is, there’s a gigantic elephant in this room and though they’ve only been here for barely three minutes, already Mina feels stifled by the strain of having to pretend Momo isn’t Momo.

And that’s what makes her interrupt uncomfortably, “you already know. What works.” Momo watches her, inscrutable as usual, but with something tipping Mina off that she’s waiting for Mina to elaborate. “I haven’t changed. In that way, I mean.” God, Mina just wants to die. Can she die? Can she just spontaneously _will_ her cellular metabolism into stopping? “So you don’t need to… um… do this.” How the hell is she supposed to phrase this? “I still like the same things, so you can just write down how you were with me. That’s… what would work.”

Each word of that sentence felt like she was systematically stripping herself of every layer of armor she’s secured around herself to protect her feelings, and now Mina is the one who waits for a reaction.

“So…” One word in, Mina is already relaxing, because Momo is letting a lazy smile pull the corners of her lips, and Mina is sure now that Momo is going to say exactly what’s needed to defuse the tension, to place her at ease, to make her comfortable inside herself again; “are you asking me now to put ‘knitting’ and ‘all-day gaming’ as your preferred dating activities?”

Suppressing a laugh, Mina exaggerates a gasp and protests, “you _liked_ knitting and even asked me to teach you—”

“Oh, I’m glad you didn’t try to argue the all-day gaming thing—”

“—and you even said completing your first scarf was a landmark moment in your life—”

“Oh my God, Mina; did you even _listen_ to that sentence—” It’s terrible, isn’t it, that like so many things related to Momo, here everything is the same but everything is different? “And my knitting was crap, we both know that,” Momo grumbles sullenly.

“It wasn’t…” Mina begins, and then purses her lips to keep from laughing. “Um, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh, good,” Momo huffs with overstated indignation as she pretends to type something into her tablet, “you still lie the same way.” A spontaneous and absolutely unwanted laugh spills from Mina’s lips, and she’s aware then that if she stared at Momo’s current grin long enough, it’d probably erase her memory of every smile she’s seen from other people. Shaking her head, Momo takes a second to swipe her tablet screen a few times, then comments lightly, “okay, since I do have to get at least some information from you on this, how about we do this—describe the worst date you’ve ever had, and then describe the best.”

A waiter pours them more water and serves them each a fruit salad-inspired amuse-bouche, and Mina considers the question. 

“The worst… happened when I was in college.” The unpleasant still-lingering aftertaste of the memory almost makes her lose her appetite, but she proceeds while idly reorganizing the components of the amuse-bouche by color. “I had just started seeing this guy who didn’t know who I was. He took me to an art gallery gala. There were lots of important people there, and he was showing off a bit, how well-connected he was, to impress me, I think.” The color-oriented rearrangement is done, so Mina now lines up the components in alphabetical order—cherry is first, then fig. “Then I got recognized by the curator. He knew my father; they were fishing buddies apparently.” The words are heavier now; stickier. Like they’re fighting to stay in her throat. “So the guy I was with found out who I was, what my family is. And felt like I had tried to humiliate him.” How else can she rearrange this? Oh, maybe she should eat it. “So afterwards he sort of yelled at me and accused me of some things, and was just… awful, really.” Recounting this incident feels like exposing the terrible secret that she let someone treat her so poorly when she knew better. From the farthest edge of her hearing, Mina picks up a low, dull squeak; when her gaze darts up slightly from her plate, she tracks a hand—Momo’s hand—gripping a fork so tightly it’s about to bend metal. Her gaze moves further up, and spot Momo holding a storm inside her eyes, a blended mix of anger and sympathy that colors her entire expression. “Um, anyway, it was fine,” an alarmed Mina is quick to reassure, lest Momo actually break that fork. “We never went out again.” That same guy spread the news of her real identity to the rest of the student body, but Mina had already enjoyed two years of anonymity—she was grateful for that, at least, and moved on.

“I’m really sorry you had to go through that,” Momo states with some fiery firmness that Mina can’t second-guess. “No one deserves that—the program won’t match you with a terrible person, I promise. It’ll match you with the right person, and it never fails.”

Mina ignores the now well-worn tug-of-war waged inside her between her general ambivalence towards this program, and what she can see is Momo’s obvious optimism that the program will work. Her mind almost roams back to her conversation with the intern, but she curbs it instantly.

“And the best date,” Mina says, easily and much more confidently because she doesn’t think she’ll ever have another answer, “was one of ours.”

With some finality, she chews the amuse-bouche and just as she’s swallowing, she realizes Momo is raising an eyebrow questioningly—oh, she was supposed to be specific.

This… is harder than the previous question. Not just because in front of her is precisely the person she went on all those dates with, but because recalling their dates now undoes all the work she put into forgetting them. It hurts like a burn to remember them, but Mina does anyway.

“Um, the best one was…” Her mind sorts through a collection of random memories, quickly enough that the sting of pain doesn’t linger; their first date at the animal shelter, the one after the auction, the time she flew them to Japan, the time they went to an arcade and Momo lost in every single game, the time they attended a dance competition and Mina almost got caught kissing Momo backstage, the time—

Abruptly, she stops, barely a few weeks into their history together, because _crap_ , that’s when they started having sex. Ugh—not this again. This makes it twice in one week, when she spared no time to it for five years. And now she has to remember it again—

—that once it started, it consumed their days, consumed her thoughts and feelings, made it so Momo was something she craved constantly, incessantly, in a way that was intense and overwhelming, because it reduced the enormity of the world to Momo’s body, and immersed her in the full flush of being in love, in the thickest, widest depths of it—

Mina clears her throat; fights some dry heat that’s managed to pilfer all the moisture from her mouth. “Our first one. It made me want to go on all the ones after it.”

A long second passes through them. To Mina’s relief, Momo doesn’t look surprised by her answer. And all that does is make Mina wonder which one was Momo’s favorite.

Perhaps it’s the universe’s design to spare her the heartache of discussing this any further, the reason Momo moves on unceremoniously. “There are some other questions I also need to ask, which you can choose to skip, if you’d like, but it helps build your profile.”

Watching Momo shift from a shadow of who she was in the past, to this person in the present-day tasked with dealing with Mina as part of a job, gives her something like whiplash. A large area of Mina’s brain simply can’t process this, doesn’t know how to distinguish the Momo she used to be with from the Momo who is looking at her right now. 

“What would you say you have learned from your past relationships?” Okay, seriously, will there ever be an easy question, Mina wonders, disgruntled. “You can be as detailed or general as you’d like. I understand this is usually a difficult topic for most of my clients.”

Their respective orders arrive; Mina is thankful for the added time it buys her to consider how she can answer this.

The crux of this question is not necessarily the lessons she’s taken away from the failure of her relationships, but her failure, itself, as a person on whom people took a risk trying to love, only for that risk not to pay off. She could preamble her response by disclosing the optimistic ideas and hopes that have guided her every time she’s been involved with someone; something about leaving people better than how you found them, about having a home in someone who also has a home in you. Inevitably, that thread of thought tugs her towards something much harder to confront: the very real possibility that she was a horrible girlfriend to everyone she dated after high school; that the last time she felt like she was good at loving someone was with Momo.

And it’s always been tempting to blame Momo for her terrible subsequent relationships; Mina could blame everything on the burden that was feeling like she’d been marked since the first time Momo touched her, that Momo ruined her for everyone else by leaving her with so little love to give anyone afterwards, with just barely enough to keep herself a person. She could blame these failures on Momo, but that would be unfair and untrue. If anything, every part of Mina that was ever salvageable and worth loving was probably shaped by Momo. Whatever mistakes she made after their break-up were her own to commit.

“I learned the ways I could have been better,” Mina murmurs, consoling herself a bit because at least she learned _something_. “And the ways I can improve to be good enough next time, for the next person.”

Momo halts her chewing to shoot her a disbelieving glance. “You think you’re not good enough already? You _are_. You _always_ have been.”

“I hope so,” Mina states with an appreciative smile as she remembers that she has Momo’s friendship now, something so valuable and steadfast, an unmerited gift if anything. When Mina finally graduated—at the top of her class, as her parents themselves did and intended for her to do—she imagined that it would have been nice to share the victory with Momo, who would have fully appreciated what it took out of her to accomplish this, who would have understood completely if Mina said, Momo, I did it, I actually did it, I think I aged 50 years trying to do this but I did it. It would have been nice to have Momo carry some of the happiness with her, because over time, she’d gotten so used to placing bits of herself in Momo’s hand without ever expecting not to have that hand there. Now that hand is there again, and if anything extraordinary ever happens to her in the future, Momo isn’t completely out of reach. It’s a heartwarming prospect; one that spreads a rush of appreciation flaming up inside her like sunrise, closing itself around her inhale. “Thank you. For saying that.”

-

When Momo off-handedly comments that her car is a block away, Mina immediately offers to walk her. It’s not particularly late but Mina makes clear that Momo can either walk with her and her security guards, or only with her security guards, which prompts Momo to roll her eyes but accept her initial offer nonetheless. Their path is illuminated by yellow streetlights and pinpricks of light in the sky, and Mina wonders, thinks, _knows_ , they’ve walked side-by-side here before. They have, right? In the edge of that unspoken question, her heart throbs painfully, but she can brush that aside much more easily now.

They’re only a minute into the trek when they pass by a familiar establishment, a pastry shop Mina remembers from their high school days. Together they’ve only been here once or twice, but after Momo went to college and Mina was in her senior year, she remembers frequenting this place with Dahyun at least a few times a month. It’s easy to convince Momo to accompany her inside, and as they enter, Mina notes the recognizable bell-ring and smiles at how little the décor and menu have changed.

The counter attendant barely addresses them as Mina selects the pastries she recalls being especially fond of before; the cashier attendant, on the other hand, emerges from the back kitchen after spotting them. “I remember you two! You look so grown-up and sophisticated!” Mina trades a smile with a pleased Momo, not anticipating what the attendant will say next. “This is such a blast from the past! I had heard you had broken up so it’s nice to see you two here.”

Smile promptly slipping off her face, Mina swallows hard, suddenly hyper aware of the imprint of the past on her skin, and of the air that surrounds them and has apparently retained all the memories of couples who came here on dates and ultimately didn’t make it, like them.

Reliably, Momo is the one who saves them from having to explain just how wrong this woman’s belief is. “Thank you so much for the pastries; it’s so nice to come here again.”

The attendant beams back at them and extends their boxed order over the counter; Mina pushes a smile back into her lips while she receives the box. As they exit the shop and resume their trek to Momo’s car, Momo’s eyes flit over to a notification brightening her phone screen, and they pause again at the sidewalk, empty save for a spotting of couples here and there. Before last week—before tonight, mostly—Mina had expected to always have some barrier of physical distance between her and Momo, like the pain and the past would be a constant wedge separating their bodies. But they’re shoulder-to-shoulder and the anticipated chasm is nowhere to be found. 

“Sorry—it’s my intern assistant, giving me an update…” While Mina is enjoying her first biteful of pastry, Momo is typing into her phone and mumbling, “he’s got a crush on you now, because you were really nice to him.” Chuckling, Momo tilts over the screen in her direction, allowing her to view the assistant’s text message: an all-caps declaration of jubilant disbelief. 

Mina side-steps entirely the less pleasant part of their conversation and comments smilingly instead, “he really looks up to you, by the way. Well, from what he told me, all the interns do. You seem to have inspired them. So I guess you’ll always have fanboys wherever you go.” Momo laughs at the report, embarrassed but pleased and failing to hide a blush as she reaches for a pastry of her own.

“It’s a tough job, but very rewarding. There’s a lot to it that I think interns only find out later on, when it gets challenging.” Mina takes another bite, nodding happily at the simple pleasure of sharing pastries with Momo, listening to Momo tell her about the ins and outs of her career. “The company is growing so quickly; there are so many new employees I have to train, it takes up a lot of time…”

It’s the normalcy of this moment and the effortlessness of their camaraderie that has Mina’s heart finally settling inside her chest; calm and excited, but also full.

Momo really is her friend, isn’t she? What had been such an outlandish notion in the past week, something she fought and rutted against for fear that accepting it would ruin memories she wanted untouched, is true. It’s uncontestable that Mina will always love Momo as the winding road of the future she would have really liked to have lived with her, had she gotten the chance to build it. She’s loved Momo for so long, really, that she doesn’t know how to stop. But she can love Momo in a different way now, as a friend—she can, she can, she already does. And now her heart has a different weight because finally, these two antagonistic ideas can be in balance: one, that Mina can’t have something that doesn’t want to be hers, and two, that Momo is a great, amazing person, and absolutely worth all the tears Mina shed for her. Now that she’s embraced this, she can finally have Momo and be unafraid the world will pull Momo away from her.

“And the program is great, you know,” Momo tells her after swallowing down another bite, and it’s obvious that she means this, deeply and wholeheartedly. 

Yes, at the very least, the program gave her Momo back; Mina smiles in agreement and means it, too. “Yeah, I think so, too; I’m glad I got signed up.”

She takes another bite accompanied by a heartbeat-long lull in their conversation, before looking back up at Momo.

“That’s… good. Great. I’m looking forward to seeing who it matches you with.”

The night drops into silence and Mina frowns, just slightly. Momo’s shuffled subtly on her feet and her tone is a tad flatter than usual, but it’s the blushing on her neck, in blotches that have a very specific, familiar pattern, that grabs Mina’s attention.

“The algorithm always works; it always find the right person. I want it to work for you.”

Mina blinks, wondering if her vision is failing her, or whether Momo has changed all her mannerisms after their break-up, because if she hasn’t changed them, then she’s lying. And it’s not that Mina has actually witnessed Momo lying to her—Momo never lied to her, but she did lie to other people, and Mina saw it. This is what it looked like.

“Because I see you as my client, but also as my friend, so I’m especially invested in finding someone for you.”

Yes, Momo still lies the same way, and this, too, was a lie.

Now Mina has stopped chewing entirely. There’s a strain, a shadow of pain, weighing down Momo’s voice and dampening her smile—Momo is trying, she really is, and it’s not working.

“I know we were involved before, but that’s in the past, and I’m glad we’ve both moved on.”

Another lie.

Confronted by actions she can’t comprehend, whose implications she can’t even start to imagine, Mina would have been overcome by panic already, and literally fled from Momo’s presence, had confusion not paralyzed her. What’s happening here? What would Momo be saying, if she were telling the truth?

“I mostly want, of course, for you to be happy.”

That. She would be saying _that_ , because that was not a lie. It was stilted and uneasy, but not a lie.

Oh. This is a _speech_. That’s why it sounds so unnatural, and rehearsed—it _is_ rehearsed. Momo came up with this and practiced it so she could deliver it convincingly.

Momo, who’s lying for a reason, because she wants Mina to believe this, to believe her.

Momo, whom Mina loved the most, whom Mina loved the best.

Momo, who would tell her, we’re not done, yet.

Momo, who thinks Mina picked her parents over her. Who broke up with her. Who didn’t avoid her memories with Mina. Who kept pictures of them. Who’s over it, over them. Isn’t she?

She remembers—

_(“That’s what you think I’m doing?? Making you choose between me and your parents?? Why would I do that, when I know you’d never pick me?”)_

—she remembers.

“That’s really the main reason why I accepted my boss’ offer to handle your account. Because I really want you to be happy with someone.”

That, too, was the truth. 

“And this is what you want, right? For the algorithm to work?” 

Mina faces Momo, and stares into the eyes of a promise she made 6 years ago. It makes her swallow down what she would have said, before: I don’t want someone else, I don’t want _anyone_ else, I want you, I’ll always want you. It makes her remember that promise: that she would never hurt Momo, that she would always protect her. And she broke that first one, yes, but she can keep the second one, and keep Momo away from anything that could ever hurt her, including Mina herself. 

Mina, who wouldn’t do any better even if she got a chance to do it over.

Mina, who doesn't want the world to take Momo away from her again.

Mina, who didn’t pick Momo last time, but can pick her now.

She made a promise, she remembers. And they _are_ done.

Her exhale stutters at the end, but Momo, though intently attuned for her reaction, is also worried and anxious, and doesn’t seem to notice. She won’t notice it when Mina lies this time, either.

“Yes, I want it to work. And I’m looking forward to seeing who the algorithm finds for me.” 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oomph--for everyone who waited the small eternity it took to update this, thank you so much for your patience! Especially to the folks who were so encouraging even with my lack of free time, and left such kind, heartwarming comments, my motivation comes from you so thank you!
> 
> P.S. G, my heart refuses to leave Giurgiu. _Refuses!_


End file.
